


Our Parts Are Slightly Used

by kelleigh (girlfromcarolina)



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Barebacking, Blow Jobs, Businessman!Jensen, Flashbacks, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Military, PTSD, Physical Disability, Rimming, Scars, Soldier!Jared, Switching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-14
Updated: 2013-06-14
Packaged: 2017-12-14 23:30:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 50,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/842685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/girlfromcarolina/pseuds/kelleigh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After three tours of duty in Iraq and Afghanistan, Jared has come home to Texas, working a steady job as a security guard and trying to patch himself back together. His dreams are less than kind, but he copes for the sake of those who never made it back. Jared's not expecting to meet someone like Jensen Ackles - a Dallas businessman with confidence and charisma in spades. They connect over coffee breaks and high-spirited basketball games with Jared's vet buddies, and what begins as friendship quickly deepens into a defining romance. Although Jared's willing to share his physical scars with Jensen, the burden of hiding his emotional wounds weighs heavily on both of them. As Jensen scrambles to put a name to his boyfriend's symptoms, Jared struggles each and every day, and neither of them sees the storm on the horizon until it's too late.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Our Parts Are Slightly Used

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 2013 round of **spn_j2_bigbang**.
> 
> Art [master post](http://lylithj2.livejournal.com/53172.html) by **lylithj2**.
> 
> This is not a story about war. At its core, it's a story about a relationship growing under tremendous pressure. I purposely left out detailed descriptions of enemy combatants and the language I know most soldiers to use, because none of it would add to the story I was trying to tell.

**PART ONE.**

"Hold the elevator!"

Jensen's shoes squeak in staccato as he hustles towards the sliding doors. Briefcase bumping on his hipbone, he stops just in time to see the elevator doors slide closed.

"Dammit."

The lobby is quiet and calm, belying the chaos of the upper floors. Jensen leans his umbrella against the wall, raindrops sliding down to pool in little puddles on the marble floor, and relights the UP button. When a full minute passes with no elevator appearing, Jensen irritably stabs the button again and again.

"Shit!" The digital displays show every elevator on or above the sixth floor. It's already past eight and Jensen's got a client calling in less than half an hour. Another minute passes and Jensen resigns himself to taking the stairs up to the seventh floor.

The stairwell door is right across from the security desk; the lone guard stands when Jensen stalks past. Jensen attempts a double-take because it's a man he's never seen before. However, the floor is slippery from the rain being tracked inside and Jensen nearly slips trying to twist around for a look. His Monday is going to be bad enough without falling and breaking his back just to scope out a guy.

Jensen hip checks the door to the stairs and smiles at the guard. His initial report is confirmed; the guy is tall, leaning slightly to the left as the security monitors flash in gray-scale behind him. Cinnamon colored hair with a dash of natural waviness finger-combed away from his temples, the tiniest shadow of a cleft in the middle of his chin. Jensen notes his prominent brow and high cheekbones. The guard is dressed in the familiar black suit, cut a little square for the build Jensen's imagining underneath, with a dark green tie that matches the Ross Building's exterior awnings. The outfit does much more for him than it ever did for Gary, the squat and stocky guard Jensen's used to rushing past five days a week.

Jensen jokes at his own plight. "Guess I could use the exercise anyway.”

There’s no real reaction from the guard, just a polite smile and a nod. Jensen sighs. Maybe he’s just not that funny this morning.

&&&&&

"Ally said he was a Marine or something."

"How the hell would Ally know that?" Cindy scoffs. She swings her dark brown hair over her shoulder as she waits for her lunch to finish microwaving.

Melanie, the firm’s in-house accountant, shrugs. "I think she said her brother knows him—he was overseas last year."

"Whatever." The buzzer dings; Cindy pops the microwave door and the bland scent of over-steamed vegetables hits Jensen. The break room's empty but for the three of them and Jensen feigns a compelling interest in the office's new single-serving coffee and espresso machine. "He's hot for a security guard."

"Have you talked to him yet?" Melanie's eyes are wide and curious, her wedding ring tap-tapping on her Nalgene bottle which is filled with a god-awful looking murky liquid. Probably the newest 'cleanse.' It has Jensen craving a medium-rare burger and chili fries.

"Haven't had the chance, but I might," Cindy says before taking her soggy broccoli and Diet Coke with her out of the break room.

"Sorry, Jensen. You probably don't want to hear all that nonsense," Melanie apologizes. "Weren't you in the Navy?"

"Oh, no," he fumbles with a plastic pod of hazelnut creamer. "I went to the Citadel, but then I got a job instead of going into the military."

Melanie shrugs and grabs her Nalgene, covetously eyeing Jensen's coffee. "Have _you_ met the new security guard?"

"Nope." Unless witnessing Jensen's elevator plight counts. “Why?”

She smirks. “No reason. Just a hunch.”

“Fine,” he says. “Keep your secrets. Enjoy your, um, lunch?” he adds, side-eyeing the bottle in her hands.

"See you at the meeting!" she chirps. 

As Jensen's leaving, he sees her slink over to the coffee machine. _That'a girl_.

&&&&&

A week later, Jensen has graduated to greeting the new guard with a sunny, "Good Morning," each time he passes through the front door. It's awkward trying to walk and sneak glances towards the security desk at the same time. Luckily for Jensen, the new guard is always at his post. The man hasn't spoken to him, but he grins politely at Jensen whenever he passes through the lobby. First lines and ice-breakers never make it past Jensen's lips no matter what clever little openers he comes up with.

When he stops to take lunch that afternoon, the break room smells like blueberry waffles, toaster still warm on the laminate countertop. 

"That smells so good, you don't even know." Melanie's right behind him with a bag of rice crackers. Jensen grabs his turkey sandwich—which is _very_ clearly labeled—from the fridge, but he’s suddenly craving a stack of pancakes, blueberry syrup drizzled over the entire tower. Maybe some whipped cream. 

Cindy strides in, an invisible cloud of perfume trailing along with her, and grins at them both.

"His name's Jared."

"Whose name?" Melanie's trying not to look at the candy bar in Cindy's long fingers.

"The guard downstairs. He was in the elevator with me and I saw his name-tag."

"Good job," Melanie says, shrugging. "Did he talk to you?"

"No, but I'm getting there."

Jensen knows that's a lie without pressing; he hasn't heard the new guard talk to anyone. Which is ridiculous—he must be able to talk or the radio clipped to his belt would be useless. Heading back to his office is more appealing than the gossip flying back and forth, so Jensen takes his turkey and flees. He thinks of new, clever openings while he savors the deli sandwich and drifts into the afternoon lull. At least he finally has a name go to with his crush.

All of his work to be clever comes to nothing late on Tuesday afternoon. 

As Jensen’s gets caught in the press of office workers passing through the lobby, there’s a sudden clamor by the revolving doors. Like a slow-motion movie sequence, he sees Jared stand and force his way into the middle of the commotion. Jensen catches a dark blur rushing towards him out of the corner of his eye, and before he can turn, someone collides with his shoulder and sends him sprawling onto the tile floor. The crowd parts around him; Jensen watches Jared wrestle a man in a hooded sweatshirt, a white patent handbag lying on the tile next to them.

Handcuffs and a strong voice come out of nowhere. "Stay down or this'll be worse." Jared's growling in the man's ear loud enough for Jensen to hear. A guard in a uniform matching Jared's rushes onto the scene and hauls the cuffed man up and away after a few clipped words into his radio. Jared grabs the handbag, passing it over to a petite brunette standing stricken to the side.

Shaking his head, Jensen notices that his briefcase landed a few feet away. He reaches for the leather handles when a shadow falls on his legs.

"Hey, are you okay?"

Jared's hovering over Jensen, red stripes of exertion painted over his cheekbones, breath easing back from a pant. Jensen takes the hand he's offering and levers himself off the floor.

"You can talk." Even to his own ears, Jensen sounds annoyingly surprised. Despite all his work to come up with something witty, it has to be the worst opening line _ever_.

"Um, yeah. Of course I can."

"Sorry, I mean..." What the hell does he mean? "I don't think I've ever seen you talk to anyone."

Jared grins and his shoulders shrug off that tense set. "No one ever talks _to_ me. I figured no one was interested, or I made them nervous."

Neither option affects Jensen. Standing face to face, Jared's a few inches taller than Jensen, but he wears the height well, his shoulders thick like a wall. He’s a solid guy—no wonder the purse-snatcher went down hard.

"Jensen. Jensen Ackles." He holds his hand out for a proper introduction. "I work for EKI on seven."

"Oh yeah, the PR firm, I've heard a lot about y'all. I'm Jared Padalecki." Jared gives Jensen's hand a quick shake and moves slowly towards the security desk. There's a definite hitch in Jared's step, a stiffness that's easy for someone like Jensen to pick up on.

"Did you pull something?" He's concerned, but Jared shakes his head, propping himself against the counter.

"An old injury. Don't worry about it."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, but thanks for asking." Sirens break into the conversation and Jared stands straight again, sighing. "Listen, I've gotta go help Rich hand that guy over to the cops."

"Sure—I mean, good job with, you know."

Jared's laugh sounds like a _thank you_ , and then he limps out of the lobby.

&&&&&

There's regular coffee, mocha latte, and dark roast espresso capsules in a little basket next to their new machine.

After five minutes of hard thinking, Jensen finally decides on one latte and one regular coffee, brewed into a pair of disposable mugs, plus a bevy of creams and sugars just in case. 

The lobby is quiet after the lunch crowds have gone and come. Jared's leaning forward in his chair over a computer monitor set into the desk. Impromptu coffee dates are hardly original, but Jensen reassures himself that this is not a date—more like an information-gathering session. And only one of the drinks in his hands can technically be considered _coffee_.

"What's this for?" Jared looks between the two cups and Jensen's face.

"Afternoon tea," Jensen smiles. "Only 'tea' in this case means coffee, if you want it."

"You didn't have to do this," he says as Jensen takes the plastic lids off both cups. Jared slides his chair forward and inhales.

"Figured I needed to make up for being one of those awful people who never talked to you.” Jensen points to the steaming drinks. “This one's regular coffee, and this one's some sort of a caramel latte. I don't really know."

Jared's eyes go bright, focused on the latte, and Jensen nudges it forward.

"Thanks. I used to get these all the time in college, but I wasn't able to after I deployed." Jared takes a long sip after blowing on the white whip. "Man, that's good. Is there a Starbucks upstairs I don't know about?"

"Nope, just a new coffee machine."

Two well-dressed women cross the lobby towards the elevators. Jared nods politely, turning quickly back to Jensen. "You must love having this in the office all the time. I'd probably spend the company's entire budget on gourmet coffee if they let me."

"So you're a serious caffeine junkie?" Jensen appreciates the aroma of the plain roast, lifting the lid and letting the steam waft up into his nose. "Don't they have rehab for that now?"

"I wish." Jared scoots his chair closer to where Jensen's leaning. "Our camp coffee was so bad in Afghanistan, but it was that or nothing. Most of the guys mainlined the stuff just for the kick."

Jensen's always felt strange around soldiers and veterans. His own fleeting brush with the military makes him feel inadequate when faced with someone who fought overseas. But Jared's manner is easy and Jensen doesn't feel that shaky tic in his gut; his curiosity gets the better of his nerves.

"How long have you been out of, what, the Army?"

"Yeah, I was part of the 81st armored division." Jensen recognizes pride tilting the corner of Jared's mouth before it turns down. "I’ve been out for about six months. I kind of lucked into this job. I didn't have anything else going for a while, but my uncle knows the owner of the building."

"After yesterday, I'm sure they're grateful to have you."

Jared shifts, leaning his elbow on the desk and stretching his side. "I paid for it this morning—almost fell out of bed when my leg didn't want to hold me up."

Jensen recalls Jared mentioning an ‘old’ injury. The physical tells he's caught in the last two weeks make sense. "Did it happen in Afghanistan?"

"Yeah, about eight months ago actually, when we—"

Jensen's phone chooses that moment to start vibrating in his pocket, and Melanie's text message berates him in capslock. 

— _EK WANTS 2 DISCUSS MARCH EVENTS IN 5MINS. GET BACK HERE._

"Duty calls?"

"I'm sorry," Jensen says with sincerity. He's not usually one for small talk, but Jared makes it less of an effort. "Boss is calling a meeting without warning."

"I think they're allowed to do that," Jared responds with a smirk.

"Want me to bring you another latte tomorrow? I usually take a break around this time.”

"I'd be disappointed if you didn't." The hint of flirtation in Jared’s voice answers one of Jensen’s questions. He’s definitely not barking up the wrong tree, so to speak.

Jensen hurries off with a wave, throwing Jared one last smile before ducking into the elevator.

&&&&&

"I had no idea if he was trying to lecture me for doing my job, or congratulate me."

"And he just kept talking?" Jared asks disbelievingly.

"Yeah," Jensen chuckles, cheeks hot with humor. "That was the funniest part! Everyone else at the meeting was half asleep, and he just kept going on and on."

"Man, I would’ve laughed so hard."

"My face hurt so much from trying not to!" Jensen’s laughter is loud in the middle of the wide-open lobby. The two of them get a few looks from the maintenance men grabbing sodas from the vending machines.

Jensen's spent the last three afternoons avoiding the break room in favor of hanging out with Jared. Melanie tries to ask what he's up to when he pops in to grab coffee, but he dashes out before she can finish. 

He’d been wrong when he pegged Jared as the ‘quiet type’. Their conversation flows as if they've been hanging out for years. Jared always has another story on the tip of his tongue. Jensen's learned that Jared packed a lot of life into his first twenty-nine years, and though there are still plenty of gray areas, he's curious to know more.

"Hey, do you ever watch the UT games?"

"Whenever I can," Jared answers, smiling fondly. "My brother played for the Longhorns way back when. I don't think I mentioned that."

"Was he drafted?"

Jared laughs. "Nah, he polished the bench. Still meant he could go to town on me whenever we played. Why?"

"They're playing Kansas tonight." Jensen puts his plan into action. "I know this great little sports bar and I was thinking we should give beer a try after all this coffee."

"That sounds awesome." Jared sighs. "But I can't make it tonight."

"Got a favorite show you can't miss?"

“You know me,” Jared grins, “I can’t miss an episode of Real Housewives!” Jensen laughs along with the joke, noting the way humor turns Jared’s expression into something rapturous. 

When they calm down, Jared says, “Actually, a buddy of mine and I teach a self-defense class over at the university's Wellness Center on Friday nights. College girls learning to kick some ass. They take it pretty seriously. Roller would kill me if I left him alone to fend off fifteen coeds."

"Roller?"

"Army nicknames—always terrible and stick like glue for the rest of your life."

"Oh yeah?" Jensen's interest piques. "You have one?"

"Not one I'm going to admit to in public." Jared winks, the moles on his face accenting his dimples.

"I'll find out someday."

"I'm sure you'll try."

There's a moment where Jensen remembers he's supposed to be disappointed that his proposition led nowhere, but Jared's good attitude makes up for it. Jensen swirls the last dregs of his cool coffee while Jared helps two visitors, handing them temporary badges and directing them to the bank of elevators. 

"Hey, do you play?" Jared asks as soon as the visitors are gone. "Basketball, I mean."

"I haven't played a formal game in years, but my neighborhood has a couple of courts I play on every so often."

"Awesome. You look like you're in decent shape," Jared teases, and Jensen hides his blush behind an affronted scoff. "I play with a group of friends, mostly vets, at the VA hospital’s rec center on Saturday mornings. We're short a man for five-on-five this week. It's casual—just a lot of trash talking and goofing off. You interested?"

"Definitely." Jensen tries not to sound too eager. "I'm no Steve Nash—"

"Eh, you'll do.” 

Jensen rewards him with a big grin. He makes it upstairs just in time for his weekly strategy session with Cindy, sliding into her office where she and the rest of the event team are waiting.

"Where have you been?" Cindy groans. "I paged your office five minutes ago."

"Sorry," he directs his apology to the event staff. As he brushes past Cindy’s desk, he quietly adds, "I got caught up talking to Jared."

"The security guard?"

"Yeah. Man, can he talk!" He grabs the last chair and pulls up the outline Cindy had sent him earlier on his tablet. "I saw what you all came up with for the Miller launch. Very impressive..."

Cindy doesn't say a word for the next ten minutes.

&&&&&

The gymnasium to which Jared had given him directions is attached to the Veterans' Affairs rehab center. Jensen makes it there ten minutes early. He'd considered showing off with tighter shorts, but had no idea what Jared's buddies would make of him. So he’d settled on an old, comfortable pair of basketball shorts and a gray Longhorns tee, happy with the Texas victory over Kansas last night.

The gym is surprisingly full for a Saturday morning. Small groups sit and chat on the bleachers, and there’s already one pick-up game being played at the far end of the court. Closer to the door, Jensen spies Jared standing amongst a small group of people. He’s wearing far less than usual, drab suit and tie exchanged for black tee and matching black track pants with long white stripes.

"Jensen, hey!" Jared waves him over. "Drop your bag anywhere.”

With high spirits, Jared introduces Jensen to his friends. Mark is shorter than Jared but possesses the same goofy grin. His girlfriend Jamie is even shorter with a natural tan, bouncy auburn ponytail, and freckled cheeks. DJ, Lincoln, and Ben all sport the same military-issue haircuts and bandages somewhere on their bodies: around a knee, shoulder, or thigh. Caitlin's the opposite of Jamie; she’s tall with short, spiky blonde hair and a serious game face, but she smiles when Jared nudges and teases her. The last two players roll in together—one literally rolling towards them in a slimmed-down wheelchair, black gloves protecting his hands as they skim over the wheels.

"This is Jimmy," Jared introduces the man in the wheelchair, "and Blake."

"Sorry man." Jimmy slaps Jared's hand in a low-five. "P.T. ran a little late today."

"’Cause this guy was flirting with Mandy again," Blake clarifies, walking up to Jared and slapping him on the shoulder. His height’s a match for Jared’s but his features are more rounded, a few days’ worth of light brown stubble shadowing his jaw. Like Jared, his eyes are bright and filled with good humor.

"So who's ready?" Jared claps for everyone's attention and divides the teams, handing out red and yellow wrist bands. As the yellow team—Mark, Jamie, Lincoln, Jared and Jensen—gathers to strategize, Jared bumps shoulders with Jensen. "Nervous?"

"I wish you were on the other team so I could kick your ass," Jensen ribs him.

"In your dreams! But we sort of have an unofficial rule about that."

"Huh?"

"Well, like, Mark and Jamie have to be on the same team—they're a couple, you know? DJ and Ben too, only they just flirt like crazy. They're not dating."

Jensen scrunches his nose.

In the huddle, Lincoln laughs. "It’s the groping, man. Blake brought this girl once, and they got on opposite teams. All they did was feel up on each other when they were supposed to be guarding."

"You're just mad ‘cause you were on Blake's team and y'all got your asses kicked." Jared pushes Lincoln and avoids the hand swiping back to retaliate. "You're sort of my guest," he adds to Jensen. "So it's like an extension of the rule."

The red team shouts across the gym and everyone grabs their spot on the court. Jensen's brain finally catches up. _They have a 'couples rule'._ And he and Jared are playing on the same team. His brain's so busy devouring the idea, he almost misses the first pass.

"Don't let Jimmy fool you, and don't feel bad getting in his face," Mark points out after Jensen dribbles and avoids a steal from Ben. The rest of the gang laughs, even Jimmy. "He'll run over your toes to get the ball—the man's a monster and a cheat."

Half an hour later, Jensen's covered in sweat and his cheeks hurt from laughing. Jimmy has only run over his foot once and Jensen learns not to underestimate him—the man has an ace shot. Jared wasn't lying, there's a lot of trash being slung between the teams, playful shoves and digs traded back and forth. Despite attempts to keep groping at a minimum, Jensen finds ways to sidle up next to Jared. Brush of an arm here, a sweaty touch there. Lingering handshakes after someone on the yellow team scores. 

Jensen doesn't feel too bad about his skills, but Jared's moves on the court are a little stilted. He’s clearly guarding his left leg—Jensen wonders again exactly what kind of injury he sustained—but nothing tempers his enthusiasm. 

The hour passes quickly. Too soon, Mark is grabbing the ball after the red team gets their twenty-first point, bringing the overall game score to one apiece.

"Guess we're settling for a tie!" Mark shouts, slightly winded, and everyone seems happy to end the competition there.

"Feel like grabbing lunch?" Jared catches Jensen on the way to their bags. "I'm starving."

"Oh, sure. I brought a change of clothes, thinking I'd grab something afterward."

Mark and Jamie take off right away, along with Blake, Caitlin, and Jimmy. The rest of them head for the locker room, though Jensen and Jared are the only ones who don't bother with a shower.

"I'm too hungry," Jared says. "You'd hear my stomach rumbling all the way in here."

Jensen dresses efficiently after toweling the sweat from his body. He tries not to look Jared's way, but he can't help it. 

There's nothing to notice at first. Jared is shirtless, pulling boxers on under his towel, and Jensen’s eyes linger fondly on the definition in his chest, the bitable thickness of his upper arms. He’s fucking _gorgeous_ , and Jensen’s taste buds scream for the chance to sample Jared’s flat brown nipples. As his gaze travels downward, however, Jensen sees the discoloration. He can only make out a small piece of the scarring above Jared's hips, curling over his abdomen like the first hints of a tattoo. What really snags Jensen is what he sees below Jared's boxers after the towel's pulled away: puckered, dark skin that wraps around his thigh and fades out above his knee. The evidence of Jared's misfortune can't be hidden.

Jared isn't turning away or covering up. He's giving Jensen plenty of time to look, to get the staring out of the way. Waiting for Jensen to decide if it matters.

It doesn't.

Jensen slips back into his sneakers and hoists his duffel over his shoulder. Jared's dressed and smiling.

"Ready?"

&&&&&

"You held up pretty well out there for a suit."

Jensen swallows a bite of his chicken salad. "Gee thanks, jerk."

The small cafe is packed for Saturday lunch. Jared had snagged a corner table when they walked in, keeping them away from most of the hustle and bustle.

"Seriously!" Jared's laughing over his hot sub. "Do you have a treadmill in your office or something? Hit the gym every day?"

"I used to work out a lot,” he says, “but now I just run every other morning and try to play a round of golf at least once a week.” 

The Citadel had given Jensen the fitness bug, enforcing a certain regime to keep their cadets in shape between classes and tight schedules. When he wasn't running through downtown Charleston in the afternoon, wearing his navy blue shirt and shorts, he was biking the diamond-anchored span of the Ravenel Bridge early in the morning while the cargo ships sailed smoothly on the Cooper River beneath. The workouts started as a chore but became a time for Jensen to delve into his own headspace while his feet pounded the pavement.

“A golfer, huh?”

Jensen shrugs. “I like the outfits.”

"That's a lot more than I can do."

"You didn't look too bad."

Jared's not really the blushing type, though his eyes go soft and his dimples come out of hiding. Jensen likes that reaction even more.

"You can join us next weekend, too, if you want," Jared says.

"Are good players that hard to come by that you're giving me a second try-out?" Jensen laughs, polishing off the crunchy blue potato chips on his plate.

"Just want to see if this week was a fluke or not," Jared teases right back, elbows resting on the small table. "We went easy on you today."

"Jimmy ran over my toes and Caitlin tried to pants me. That was easy?"

"Trust me." Jared's voice lowers in mock-seriousness. "This was nothing. You in?"

"Definitely."

&&&&&

Sunday morning, Jensen tees off at eight o’ clock sharp. The weather’s favorable, mild for February, meaning the course is busier than it’s been in months.

Behind him, Warren whistles as he watches Jensen’s tee-shot sail straight over the fairway. “Nice shot, kid. You’re going to cost me some money today.”

Despite being in his late forties, Warren Creavalle is a handsome man. Chestnut waves (lightly salted), thick enough to book hair commercials, combed away from a wide face featuring dark, expressive eyebrows and a piercing gray gaze. Jensen had met him years ago at a black-tie charity function; the attraction was immediate. Warren was one of the charity’s top-tier donors—his money was dripping in oil—but he’d been happy to skip the majority of the function in favor of stripping Jensen out of his tuxedo in a lavish, private bathroom.

For a short time, Jensen had glimpsed a future for the two of them, but Warren wasn’t looking for commitment. The end of their short relationship didn’t hit Jensen as hard as it could have, and they’d decided to remain friends. Infrequent lunches turned into weekly appointments. Well aware of Jensen’s golfing abilities, Warren eventually invited Jensen to his country club. Their routine had gone unbroken ever since.

Today, they catch up over the first nine holes, sharing news from the week. On the back nine, Jensen tells Warren about Jared.

“You’re sure he’s gay?” Warren asks as they’re walking up to the green on twelve.

“Positive.” 

The signs are fairly obvious—he and Jared shared an instant rapport—but Jensen doesn't have enough experience to know whether it's friendship or something more. Nevertheless, the possibility makes Jensen feel light, like his heart’s filled with helium.

Jensen’s ball is away, so he putts first, well aware of Warren’s friendly scrutiny.

“What?” he asks after his putt misses to the left.

Warren’s expression is subtly devious. “Nothing, my dear.” He meticulously lines up his putt and sinks it on the first try. Warren’s not the type to gloat out loud; his smile says enough. “But you’ve known Jared for a week. How has he been able to resist you this long? Now, when I met you—”

Jensen laughs. “I know, I know. But I’m okay with it,” he says truthfully. “I like the anticipation.”

Blocking out Warren’s smug expression, Jensen sinks his second putt. Tilting his face towards the sun, Jensen basks in the warmth. Even living in Texas, he’s ready for winter to be over.

“Ah, now I understand.”

Shouldering their bags, Warren and Jensen walk to the next tee.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Warren says nothing, pulling a 3-wood from his bag.

“Warren…”

“Jensen, my dear, if you have to ask…” 

Warren tees off, stepping aside once his ball lands just off the fairway. He continues to watch Jensen with an all-knowing grin, refusing to say more. Jensen plays the rest of the round with an edge. If Warren’s going to continue acting superior, Jensen’s going to deliver on his earlier prediction. He intends to make sure Warren loses a fat wad of cash.

That’ll teach him not to mess with Jensen’s head.

&&&&&

Walking into the Ross Building on Monday morning, Jensen discovers Cindy leaning over the security desk. She holds Jared's attention only until he notices Jensen across the lobby, and his eager wave nearly knocks Cindy over. That smug feeling stays with Jensen all day and he brings Jared a chocolate chip muffin with his latte that afternoon.

During the week, he and Jared continue their routine of coffee and conversation. Jared is curious and asks about the Citadel, though they skim over Jensen's decision to move into the corporate world instead of enlisting, and Jared shares more stories about his time overseas with Mark, Blake, and DJ. 

Jensen's week flies by. Warren invites him to have drinks at a downtown lounge on Wednesday night. He apologizes for his behavior during their golf game, taking it one step further by listening to Jensen talk about Jared. This is new territory in their friendship; Jensen hasn’t dated much since he and Warren broke up, but he’s never found someone like Jared. He _wants_ to share his happiness.

On Friday, Jared invites him for another round of basketball with his buddies.

"If you want us to go easy on you again, we will."

"No way," Jensen laughs, spinning his empty coffee cup on the desk. "Whatever you've got, I want to see it."

"Oh really?" Jared teases, setting off a new bout of laughter from both of them.

"Skills, man. Don't know why you think I meant anything else." Jensen's never been able to flirt so effortlessly in his life. If this is what it's supposed to feel like, he's been getting it wrong for years.

"Hey, do you want to catch a movie after the game? I haven't gone in ages so I'd be up for anything."

Jensen agrees before he can blink, and then Jared gives him something he didn't have: his phone number.

"Just in case you change your mind."

Not a chance of that happening, but Jensen gladly takes his number, scribbled on a little neon green post-it that Jensen sticks to the face of his cell phone. When he reverted back to being a high-schooler with a crush, Jensen's not sure, but for the rest of the afternoon it gives him a little thrill every time he pulls out his phone and sees the bright note.

&&&&&

"You are welcome back here any time, man." Lincoln pats Jensen on the back, sharing the sweet taste of victory. Jensen and Jared had teamed up with Lincoln, Caitlin and Blake to wallop the red team two games to nothing.

"We’ve gotta break up the Jays though," Ben complains. "I don't care about the rules, that's just unfair."

"You're talking about Jimmy and I, right?" Jamie joins in, holding Mark's hand as they all congregate in the VA's lobby. "'Cause we're totally awesome."

"Hell yes." Jimmy wheels over and holds his fist out. "Punch it, girl."

Ben laughs. "Y'all are great, but I was totally talking about Iron Man and Jensen."

That starts a debate on the court legality of the 'couples rule'. Jensen calmly backs away and bumps into Jared's side.

"Thought about what movie you want to see?"

"Oh crap," Jensen sighs. "I don't even know half of what's out. You?"

"How about _The Avengers_?” Jared hoists his bag higher on his shoulder where it had slipped. "Unless you've already seen it."

"Nope, that sounds good,” Jensen tells him, hiding his excitement. He loves Marvel movies, but rarely knows anyone willing to go and see one.

"Want to grab snacks at the theater? There's a nice one right off the next exit if you jump on the highway."

"You guys are going to a movie?" Mark's voice cuts in. The debate's clearly over and half the group is heading out the doors, but Mark, Jamie, and Caitlin are hanging around. "Awesome, I haven't been in forever. Cait, you wanna come? Wait, what are we seeing?"

Just like that, Jensen's date turns into a group outing. Jared gives him a timid smile while they all walk out of the rec center to grab their cars; Jensen can see he doesn't have it in him to tell his friends to bug off. He grins back to show that he doesn't really mind even as his brain's telling him to grab Jared and abscond with him. Jensen kicks his brain to the curb and follows Jared's truck all the way to the theater.

Afterward, Jensen can admit he had a good time. He and Jared were never alone, but the five of them crowded into a middle row in the half-empty theater—Jensen, Jared, Mark in the middle with Jamie, and Caitlin on his other side—and provided their own commentary. The girls plowed through more nachos and cheese than the guys could manage while Jensen concentrated on keeping Jared's wandering hands away from his bag of Swedish Fish. Jensen was disappointed that those same hands didn't attempt to wander in more interesting directions, but their fingers brushed softly every now and then to keep Jensen's hopes alive.

His ass is numb by the end of the movie, but Jared's worse off, walking gingerly through the parking lot.

"You alright?"

"Yeah," Jared says with a grimace showing how bad of a liar he is. "Guess I'm just a little sore after playing and sitting on my ass for hours."

"You guys sure you don't want to come grab dinner and a couple beers?" Mark's arm is slung over Jamie's shoulders. Caitlin had taken off a few minutes earlier.

"Nah, I'm gonna head home and soak in the shower."

Jensen declines as well, worried about Jared.

"Don't worry, I'm good. Seriously, Jensen." He grins, leans against his truck bed. "That was fun though. Maybe we can do it again next weekend."

"Or this week," Jensen's quick to suggest. Less chance of extra wheels. "Will you call me tonight when your leg's feeling better?"

"Why? Are you gonna come over and rub it for me?" 

Nothing dampens their flirting for long, it seems, and Jensen fires back. "Hey! I studied Physical Therapy for a while. These hands can still work wonders."

"I'll bet."

"Seriously though, call me?" Jensen wants to make sure before Jared hops up into the truck and speeds away.

"Yeah, of course. Thanks for coming today. I had—you know."

Jensen smiles. "Yeah, me too."

&&&&&

"God, you're so cheery. Can't you turn it down a notch?"

Jensen's grin gets wider and Cindy cringes. He can see the hangover in her bleary eyes and pale temples. "Too many mimosas at brunch yesterday?"

"Don't even," she groans, her ballet-pink nails digging into her forehead. "Just leave or something."

"This is my office."

She opens one eye, but then scrunches both tightly. "I hate Mondays."

He lets her sink into a daze while he reviews his ideas for an event they're supposed to be working on. Jensen could be reciting explicit gay porn and Cindy wouldn't catch on; she's practically asleep.

Jared had called on Saturday night and the two of them had talked for nearly an hour. Wrapped up in his comforter with Sportscenter muted on his bedroom television, Jensen had listened to more of Jared's stories until he couldn't hold back the yawns. Falling asleep to the sound of someone else's voice was a novel experience.

Sunday dawned cloudy, rain pattering against Jensen’s windows. Instead of playing golf, Jensen met Warren for a late lunch at the country club. Back at home, he’d called Jared. That conversation lasted throughout the rest of the afternoon. It was light and casual, forcing Jensen to the realization that he needed to get his act together and make a move.

Cindy flees for an early lunch as soon as Jensen ends their meeting. After she leaves, he gets down and dirty with the rest of his work.

Jared's waiting behind the security desk when Jensen gets his break, lighting up the lobby with a wide smile. 

"Thank God, you brought coffee."

"I see how this works. You only want me for my coffee."

"Don't forget your court skills," Jared adds, snatching the latte and blowing the whip. "Those too."

"Hah hah," Jensen mutters. Jared smiles, teeth as bright as the white foam. "You feeling any better?"

"Yeah." Jared doesn't get up, leaning further back in his chair. "Still a little sore, you know? But definitely better."

"Next time you should let me come home with you." Jensen keeps the offer casual. "Because with your legs, I really could help."

Jared takes a careful sip of his coffee, licks his lips to catch all the stray whip. "Well then, next time I will."

The way Jared says it, low and nuanced, plays over and over in Jensen's head when he catches the elevator back to his office, smiling at his reflection the entire ride. Maybe Jensen's not the only one trying to get his act together.

&&&&&

"I'm cashing in my rain check."

"For what?" Jensen's been trying to fill in the last squares of Jared's sudoku from the newspaper for ten minutes. Damn these extra-hard puzzles!

"You, me, a bar and a basketball game, remember?" Jared watches him erase a pair of fours that are frustratingly occupying the same set of squares. "The Vols are playing Georgia Tech at eight."

"Don't you have your class?"

Jared shakes his head, loosening the hair tucked behind his ears. "There's some big campus festival tonight, so the girls asked us to bump the class to five-thirty instead of seven-thirty. I've got plenty of time if you want to meet up. You said you knew a good place, right?"

That's how they end up at JR's on Friday night, a pitcher of beer nearly empty on the table between them. Tennessee's wiping the court with Tech so they're paying more attention to their conversation than the game. Jared's fussing at the remains of their nachos, forking stray bits of chicken and cheese.

"How was your class?"

"Those girls worked me out so hard." He sits back rigidly. "I think they like it when I'm sore. Makes 'em feel good when they can knock me around once in a while."

He's amused by the mental picture of Jared set upon by a dozen bubbly coeds, but then he realizes they're supposed to play basketball tomorrow.

"I'll make it. I hate canceling on those guys," he says after Jensen asks if he's up to it. "It gets me out of bed in the morning."

"But if you're hurting—"

"I'll be fine."

Jensen doesn't act on the prickle of annoyance that follows Jared's brush-off. It’s good that nothing gets him down, even circumstances that would force anyone else to take a day off. 

"We're gonna be on opposite teams, remember? I want to make sure I've got the best competition."

Jared rallies. "Don't worry," he says. "There's no way you're walking off that court a winner."

"That's pretty big talk, Iron Man."

"What did—" Gaping disbelief is not a good look on Jared, Jensen decides. "Who told you?" Jared demands, but before Jensen works out how to curb his anger, Jared relaxes. "Fuck, it was at the game last week, wasn't it?"

"Ben let it slip, yeah."

"That fucker." Jared pulls a long swallow from his pint glass, Jensen doing the same as if thirst is contagious. "You've been waiting all week to throw that out, haven't you?"

Jensen _had_ and he mentally high-fives himself at the timing. "I'm guessing you don't have a mechanical heart, so where's the name come from?"

"Trust me," Jared says, "the name's much cooler without the story."

"Suit yourself." 

Their server, decked out in a faded gray Cowboys t-shirt, drops two plates on the table. She gives them a grin. "Anything else, guys?"

"I think we're good," Jensen says. "Thanks, Andee." She’s his favorite around here for a reason: there are extra pickles and a side of honey mustard already on his plate. Food takes the place of conversation, cheers and whistles from the game in the background. It's entertaining to watch Jared attempt to eat his Buffalo wings and keep up with the game at the same time. Jared licks the spicy red sauce from his lips and from his fingertips, making Jensen forget all about Jared’s mysterious nickname.

Andee comes back around to take their plates after Jensen's picked up every drop of honey mustard with his sweet potato fries. Jared's got a pile of napkins stained with hot sauce on his plate; he's patting his stomach contentedly through his dark olive shirt.

"You weren't kidding about this place," Jared says. "I'm gonna get fat if I keep eating out like this."

"It's fucking worth it," Jensen says and laughs.

"I wish I was still in the service. I could eat as much as I wanted even if the rations were crap."

"Do you want to go back?"

Jared glances away when a roar goes up from the game. No big surprise, the Vols are jumping around the court in victory and the mostly-orange crowd swells around the players.

"I can't go back," Jared says, "but I would if I could. It just fit for me, you know? The Army's been my life since I was nineteen and I never figured I'd have to find something to replace that."

"Can you go back to school or something now that you're out?"

“I'm not there yet,” he admits, “and I wouldn’t know what to study anymore.”

Andee drops the check directly in the middle of the table. Jensen snags it first. "It's only fair since you got beat up by a bunch of girls today."

"Ass." Jared leans back to stretch out his chest. There's a moment where his face goes tight, all movement stopped like a cord pulled past its breaking point, then he relaxes again. Jensen's old PT training rushes back, pin-pointing the likely places on Jared's body where the pressure's built up.

"Are you up for another drink?" Jensen asks.

"You want me to be a mess out on the court tomorrow, don't you?"

"Hey, no," Jensen says. "I want you to be one hundred percent when I kick your ass."

Jared shakes his head, eyes momentarily soft and thoughtful, reminiscent of a time Jensen's not privy to. "In that case I should head home and plan my strategy for tomorrow. You, on the other hand, should get some beauty sleep. At the very least you'll look pretty when I'm wiping the court with you."

"You are so dead."

The laughter and ribbing continue all the way out into the parking lot, but Jensen keeps his mouth shut when Jared steps up into his truck. Not a fluid motion—half of Jared's body is stiff as a board—but he manages and rolls down the window once the door shuts.

"Thanks for dinner, man," he says.

"Catch you in the morning." Jensen waves and the truck revs out of the parking lot.

&&&&&

With the 'couples rule' off the table, there's mayhem on the basketball court. Mark and Jamie are tasked with picking teams; Jensen ends up on the yellow squad along with Jamie, Ben, Lincoln, and Jimmy.

"Those bitches are going down," Jimmy chants, rolling into their huddle.

Jensen knows he's supposed to be guarding DJ, but after Ben lets Jared score two from a layup, the match-ups get switched around and suddenly Jared's right in Jensen's face. Jensen gets a short, low pass from Jamie and tries to dribble around the human brick wall.

"Why isn't your nickname Sasquatch?" Jensen fakes left and quick-steps around Jared's right side. "It would have fit better 'cause you're a fucking house."

"My mom says I'm perfect just the way I am!" Jared laughs after Jensen manages to find an opening and get the ball away to Jimmy who, after running over Mark's toes, takes it to the net.

"Yeah, well your mom also says—" Jensen starts, but Jared gets the ball on an inbound throw from Caitlin and they're back on their game.

An hour and a half later, Jensen's panting on the sidelines. Jared is already sitting on the bleachers, one leg bent and the other straight out in front of him. His head's fallen back, nose tipped towards the ceiling, and his lungs expand with every deep breath.

"Dude"—Mark sucks in a lungful of air—“was it just me...or was that game ridiculous?"

The entire group is more winded than usual. They'd ended with a draw—one game apiece—but Jensen feels like he's gone five rounds with a freight train. Sure, he'd flirted with Jared and used the opportunity to press himself as close to Jared as possible while they played, but no one had wanted to lose.

Lincoln raises his hand. "I vote the couples rule back in effect next week."

"Second!" Blake adds, bent double with his hands on his knees.

Ben rubs his shoulder where white bandages are wrapped thick around his joint. "I won't make it through another Saturday like this." He's smiling, but Jensen spies the twinge of pain in his expression.

The group divides towards the locker rooms, making slow progress. Blake's leaning heavily on Jimmy's lightweight basketball chair as they go. On the bench, Jared hasn't moved.

"You doing okay?" Jensen takes a seat next to him.

"I'll let you know in a minute."

A minute passes, then two. After three, Jensen sighs. "I'm helping you up, you're getting changed, and then we're going back to your place."

Jared tilts his head around and grins. "I didn't know you could be so bossy."

"You have no idea. Now, up!"

&&&&&

Jared's place is a cookie-cutter apartment in a stuccoed complex ten minutes from downtown, shade trees planted strategically around the buildings. The few rooms are sparely decorated. Either Jared hasn't had the apartment for very long or he's not one for mementos. Instead of a tour, Jared leans on the counter and points Jensen in various directions.

"Got a guest bedroom over there, but I don't have any furniture for it yet," he says. "I'm sort of collecting things as I go. I've never really had much in the way of stuff."

"You've got a couch, that'll work."

"Hmmm," Jared hums. "Sounds kinky. You're not even buying me lunch first."

"Dick," Jensen laughs, knocking lightly at Jared's arm so not to jostle him. "Change into something comfortable—" 

Jared's eyebrow cocks straight up. 

"Oh no," Jensen says, "I didn't mean get naked. Get comfy and I'll give you a massage."

"Sweet." Jared's voice is eager but his body lags behind as he disappears into the main bedroom. 

Jensen hears drawers opening, the sound of a faucet a few minutes later. He rolls up his sleeves and toes off his shoes, leaving them on the tile by the front door. Pushing Jared's coffee table away from the couch, Jensen kneels down and waits.

"Hey, I—whoa." Jared comes out of the bedroom and stops, staring at Jensen. "You…um, are you okay?"

"Just waiting for you to get your ass over here."

Jared squeezes between Jensen and the couch. "I really appreciate this, man. I don't get this sort of treatment every day."

"Maybe you're faking your pain to get me to do this."

"I want your hands on me _that_ badly, yeah," Jared jokes even as it takes him a full minute to sit down. "How do you want me?"

The question hangs heavy between them. They've flirted non-stop for weeks and Jensen could take full advantage of the situation, but he's not going off some cheap porn script. Jared's in genuine pain. Advantage-taking might just have to wait a little longer.

"You're good," he says, scooting forwards so that he's kneeling at Jared's left side, the puckered scarring visible below Jared's soft cotton shorts. 

Jared keeps his eyes averted, pupils slowly losing focus as he stares off towards the television. "I think I made it worse today," he admits. "Do you need lotion or anything?"

"We're not at a spa," Jensen says, grinning. "All I need are these." He flexes his fingers. "Where's the worst of the pain?"

"Hmm?" Jared blinks back to Jensen's face. "Oh, definitely my lower back, but it's all kind of...spreading, I guess."

Now that Jared's sitting, Jensen wants to keep him off his feet. He gauges where to start, forces his mind to look at Jared's body from a clinical perspective—it's not entirely possible but he makes a good effort. His fingers ring Jared's ankle; he feels the strain in the tendons.

"Take a deep breath and relax your muscles as much as you can. Just let 'em go limp."

There's little improvement when Jared exhales. Jensen has his work cut out for him. Starting at the ankle, Jensen kneads his fingers into weary muscles, imagining he can reshape them under his palms, soothing strains and easing the kinks two days of physical activity have given Jared. Moving up Jared's calf, Jensen's pulse kicks up a notch. Jared has led a physical life and it shows, appealing to Jensen's libido, but there are unavoidable signs of wasting: Jared’s left leg shows far less muscle tone than his right.

Jared barely hisses when Jensen's fingers manipulate a palpable knot behind his left knee. Either his touch is divine or…

"Are you okay?"

"Startin' to feel no pain," Jared drawls, syllables sticking together like molasses on his tongue. "You're good."

"I'm not this good," he mutters, seeing Jared's eyes roll lazily in their sockets. 

Things get complicated above Jared’s knee, the scarring under his hands evident and almost untouchable. Jensen slides his fingers around the inside of Jared's lower thigh where the skin is intact and unblemished, gaining a feel for the man beneath the warped muscles. He gets a sense of how intense Jared's pain must become and how easily that must happen through every-day activities. And the inevitable questions follow in his mind about what happened to leave Jared like this. He floats his fingers over the lowest curl of the scar, edging closer...

"You don't—" Jared tries to sit up, muscles going lax from the waist down to hamper him.

"I won't," Jensen says, immediately grasping Jared's meaning. "There a lot I can do to help without touching it if you'd rather I didn't."

"It can be weird, you know?" 

There's a line between vanity and trust they haven't crossed yet. Jensen is patient; he's seen the damage, but touching is clearly an issue.

"I get it, stay comfy if you need to," he says. "But if you can move a little, I'll get your lower back since you said it was pretty bad."

Jared turns as if there are bags of sand tied to his limbs, legs heavy with the weight, but he gets his right hip up against the back of the couch, right leg bent semi-comfortably underneath him. His left is as straight as it can be, foot on the floor, though Jared displays more flexibility now than when Jensen began. Jared's neck goes loose, head dropping forward and bringing his spine into a convex position.

Jensen allows his touch to become more forceful—a push instead of a gentle guiding motion. This is where Jared needs the relief and as he works, Jensen feels the difference. It's been too long since he's done this, helped someone through nothing but his hands, and it’s heady and gratifying to see Jared loosen a little with every stroke along his spine, going deeper into the knotted tissue of his lower back.

And then Jared goes boneless, melting into the cushions like soggy Jell-O. Yeah, like Jensen thought before, he's not _that_ good.

"Dude—" Jensen pulls Jared around by the shoulder until he's leaning back into the couch. It's a few seconds before Jared's eyes come around to Jensen's and it hits him. "What did you take?"

"Muscle relaxant." The words are a jumble for Jensen to pick apart. "Got 'em for the worst of it."

"You should've told me," Jensen says quietly.

"Somethin' gonna go wrong?"

"No, you'll be fine. I needed to work out the tension and get your blood flowing again." Jensen settles against Jared's left shoulder; he doesn't appear to notice the proximity. "But you're gonna get all loopy on me now and you won't be able to say ‘thank you’ for all of my hard work."

Jared's laugh is sincere, albeit drowsy and slow. "Thanks. You can kiss me if you want, 'cause I can't really move."

Jensen's breath brakes hard in his throat. "I'm not gonna kiss you when you're all dopey."

"But I wanna thank you," Jared sighs, twitching his fingers towards Jensen's legs. That’s the extent of his ability to move.

"Thank me later."

Jared blinks, eyelids slow to come up again. "Wanna stay 'n watch TIVO? I got the Florida game from last night."

"Then it's my turn to take a rain check." Jensen's embarrassed by his own decidedly non-clinical response to touching Jared and by the looks of things, Jared's only going to be awake for another two and a half minutes anyway. "I've got some work to finish up. Don't you dare move off this couch unless you're going to bed."

"M'kay."

By the time Jensen picks up his stuff and turns around at the front door, Jared's already out. He laughs quietly, but there's an odd pinging in his chest when he shuts the door behind him.

Of all the ways Jensen thought today could have ended, leaving Jared to sleep off his muscle relaxant-induced coma never even made it onto the list.

 

**PART TWO.**

_Jared leans his crutches against the bookshelf and sits in the empty chair, already ticked off that these bastards make him come to them. He had asked once why someone couldn’t meet him in his hospital room, but the only response he received was some bullshit about getting him **up and moving**. No fuckin’ sympathy for the guy with the bad leg._

_Whatever, Jared only needs to put up with these sessions until they green-light him for active duty again. Maybe today’s his lucky day._

_“Good morning, Sergeant.”_

_Today’s headshrinker doesn’t look up from Jared’s file, studying his military personnel records jacket as she sits behind her desk. She gives him a rank and a name, but Jared doesn’t bother to remember either—he’s had a different psychiatrist every time. All he needs to know right now is that she ranks above him, and that she’s standing between Jared and a C17 flight back to Afghanistan._

_“How’s your physical therapy progressing, Sergeant?” she asks._

_“Fine.” Jared doesn’t elaborate, knowing full well she has a copy of his therapist’s notes. He’s been pushing himself hard, desperate to get out of this dull hospital. “Getting stronger every day, ma’am.”_

_“That’s good. You won’t have much trouble transitioning to civilian life then.” She closes his jacket. “Given any thought to what you want to do?_

_Jared blinks. “Ma’am?”_

_“You have options, of course,” the shrink says. “Going back to school under the G.I. Bill, signing up as a recruiter.”_

_“I—” Suddenly Jared feels awkward in his hospital pants and t-shirt. He longs for the weight of his gear or the tight fit of his dress uniform. “I was planning to head back once I was done here.”_

_His shrink sighs. Jared knows what that sound means, and it’s the last thing he wants to hear. Opening another file, she begins reading. “Roadside bombing, two and a half months ago.”_

_Jared closes his eyes and clenches his teeth, praying he won’t have to listen to the entire thing. No such luck._

_“Multiple shrapnel wounds, a fractured pelvis, and a dislocated shoulder. Burns covering almost eight percent of your body, mostly on your left leg and hip, and you’ve lost thirty percent of the muscle mass in that same leg.” She sets the file back on her desk. “I’m sorry, Jared.”_

_Using his name is worse than sighing._

_“In your condition, you wouldn’t pass the physical for active duty.”_

_“I’ll get better, ma’am,” Jared insists. “I’ll double the amount of physical therapy, attend any training program they ask me to.”_

_“Not every injury can be healed, Sergeant.” She must have noticed how uncomfortable it made Jared to hear his name instead of his rank. No one can take his rank, not even this fucking psychiatrist._

_“I’m afraid you won’t be cleared for active duty, now or in the future.”_

_Jared refuses to break down in front of his one-and-done shrink. He turns his face away, unable to look at her bland expression. She doesn’t care about him; she must see a dozen broken soldiers every day. Jared is file and a case number, nothing more. She has no right to see his pain._

_He sits through the rest of the appointment, responding only when he needs to. The shrink must not care about the answers he’s giving because he only sees her write one note at the end of their session. As he hobbles back to his room, underarms aching from the crutches, he wonders what the note said. He doesn’t have to wonder for very long._

_Two days later, a smiling doctor tells him that he’s being released. Jared forces himself to smile back, but inside he feels nothing._

_The Army no longer wants him. What the hell is he supposed to do now?_

&&&&&

"Hold the elevator!"

Jensen silently thanks his luck when a big hand reaches out and stays the elevator doors on Monday. His morning's booked solid and he can't afford a delay. Hoisting his overloaded bag higher onto his shoulder, Jensen turns into the elevator and comes face to face with Jared.

"Going up?"

“Hey!” Jensen's face breaks out into a grin so wide, his cheeks hurt. "Morning."

On Sunday morning, Jensen had run for so long, his hips went numb. Running was the only kind of therapy Jensen could afford. Not even a leisurely round of golf had settled his mind, and Warren was more than happy to comment on his constant distraction.

With the idea of a kiss out in the open, things had changed. Jensen wondered if he would have been working out his issues on the pavement and the fairways until he was nothing but sweat and sore muscles if Jared hadn’t been so lackadaisical and droopy after his massage. If Jensen’s hands would have been allowed to wander further…

He and Jared are the only ones inside the elevator. Jensen is thankful he gets a moment to breathe, a blessed moment of peace with the man he’d looked forward to seeing since Saturday afternoon. Jared releases his hold on the doors and pushes the button for the seventh floor.

"Guess you know where I'm heading,” Jensen says. “Where are you going?”

“My desk.” The doors close. Jared’s smile reflects back at Jensen from every mirrored surface. “But I don’t mind taking another trip up and down.”

Jared looks Jensen over with a disarming thoroughness, from the healthy flush Jensen feels lighting up his cheeks to the leather bag threatening to dislocate his shoulder. 

"Looks like you've got a crazy morning."

"You have no idea," Jensen huffs. The elevator jerks as it starts up, a slow creak of overworked gears behind the metal walls. "I'm literally stepping off of this elevator and walking right into a meeting that's gonna suck. And I have no idea if anyone catered breakfast, 'cause I'm already starving." He laughs to cover up the growl in his stomach. "Sometimes Mondays really do suck, but I guess we all have to—"

He's swiftly shut up when Jared leans down and kisses him square on the lips. It's over in an instant but it's definitely a kiss. Jensen's barely given a chance to test the pressure of Jared's lips before they're no longer touching his.

"What was that?" Without Jared's lips there to stop them, the words slip right out of Jensen's mouth. 

"That was me cutting to the chase," Jared says, his dimples in full effect. If they weren’t slowly being pulled upwards in a small, metal box, Jensen would reach out and trace the curve of each one. "I didn't want to be thinking about it all day, freaking out that I messed things up on Saturday."

Jensen's shocked, to say the least, but he feels a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. It's one less thing to worry about; he and Jared are definitely on the same page. Given the drugs Jared had taken, Jensen wondered if Jared would even remember the massage or his dopey come-on.

"Good.” Jensen exhales. “Okay."

Jared cocks his eyebrow. "Okay?"

"Yeah," Jensen sighs. "I was gonna talk to you at some point, but..."

"I know. It's a crazy day for you," Jared finishes for him. "Hopefully I didn't make it worse."

"Definitely better," Jensen says, tipping his chin up and bringing his lips back into Jared's line of sight. "You _really_ have no idea."

Jared’s hand slips around Jensen's hip, tugging him ever so slightly closer. The pull jars Jensen's muscles and he hisses against Jared's lips.

"Are you sore?"

"I overdid my run yesterday, it's no big deal."

Jared doesn't coddle him, but he lets Jensen slip out of his hold. "Bet you wish you could give yourself a massage. I mean, because of your hands…" Jared whistles. "I'm still feeling good."

Jensen's eye turns clinical. "You're not feeling that same tightness across your back?"

"It's a lot better."

Meaning it’s better than Jared is used to, Jensen thinks. That's enough to ease Jensen's mind for now.

"Am I gonna see you later?"

"I sure as hell hope so," Jensen jokes as the doors open and he steps out into EKI's corporate chaos, his cheeks warm. "If I haven't emerged by dinnertime, you need to come and rescue me."

Jared’s smile is the last thing Jensen sees before the elevator doors close and he’s swallowed up by his crazy day.

&&&&&

On Wednesday morning, a Facebook friend request from ‘Jared Tristan’ pops up on Jensen's computer. The name throws him for a second until he remembers Jared mentioning that most soldiers refrained from using full names on social networks. Jensen clicks over from the spreadsheet he's been staring at blankly for fifteen minutes, and accepts right away. They've known one another for a month, which is way past Jensen's standard one-week waiting period for confirming friends.

There are large gaps in his timeline, which Jensen matches to Jared’s time on active duty, but there’s more than enough on his page to keep him occupied for the rest of the morning while his spreadsheet languishes on the desktop.

That afternoon, before Jensen can their coffees down, Jared stands and waves him into the service hallway. "Let's go, I'm on break."

Break or not, they usually hang out in the lobby until Jensen has to trudge upstairs, but Jared's reason for absconding with him to the hallway is clear as soon as Jensen sets the two cups at the small, utilitarian café table just inside the back door.

"Hey."

The tail-end of the word is whispered right against Jensen's lips as Jared bends to kiss him. It passes like a light breeze, pressure that's gone as quickly as it came, but Jensen's mouth pulls into a reflexive smile. He knows he's blushing before he feels the heat.

"Should I be offended that you didn't want to do that in the lobby?"

Jared's eyebrows give weight to his suddenly heavy stare. "Oh, I didn't—sorry, I was just trying to be discreet."

Jensen lays his hand over the thick texture of Jared's jacket. "I was kidding, it's okay." He'd expected a few road bumps, honestly, and settles this one smoothly. "Now, drink the coffee I slaved over."

Sitting in chairs that definitely were not built with grown men in mind, they while away Jared's entire break. Jared launches into a recap of a game Jensen had missed the night before and pretty soon, they're both looking down at their last sips of coffee.

“Got a busy afternoon?" Jared asks.

"Just a CYA meeting at 3:30. I can head out whenever that wraps up."

"Cover Your Ass, huh?" Jared laughs. "Sounds like a headache."

"More often than not," Jensen tells him as he licks a drop of coffee from his upper lip. "There's a lot of griping and people attempting to reassign things." He doesn't need to look up to know Jared's watching him; he does it again and feels pleasantly smug when Jared's fingers dig dents into the thick paper cup. "But anyway, I meant to ask if you have plans Friday after your class."

"Roller and I are done with the class for now," Jared says, easing up on his cup. "It was only eight weeks, but we might teach it again during summer session. So no," he shakes his head, "I'm free. What's up?"

"This guy I work with just got engaged, and his friends planned a party-thing at this bar I've never heard of. Just a congratulations, no big deal."

"You're _really_ selling this," Jared says. "C'mon, just ask."

Jensen pouts. "Fine. I was wondering if you could ask DJ if he wants to go with me. You know, 'cause I need a date."

"You are such a dick," Jared laughs, not bothering to feign offense. "And DJ's not your type."

"Seriously? Got any other suggestions?" Jensen fishes.

"I think I know someone who might be able to stomach the idea of going out with you."

Jensen leans over the table. "Does this guy have a name? Tristan, maybe?”

Grinning, Jared cuts the distance between them. “Someone’s been stalking me on the internet.”

Before Jensen can respond, he’s treated to a caramel-laced kiss. The sugar seeps into his blood, obscures the thought that they’re crazy to do this here, where anyone could find them, but Jensen can’t resist the taste of whipped milk on his lips, the mocha tongue swirling with his.

Caffeine has never tasted so sweet.

&&&&&

Friday night, Jensen meets Jared on the sidewalk outside the club. Kobalt with a _K_ , Jensen notices with a full eye-roll.

Jared hasn’t noticed his arrival, so Jensen takes a moment to check him out, appreciating the change-up in Jared's style. Dark jeans cover everything but the tips of his leather cowboy boots, two full sizes larger than the ones Jensen's wearing, and those are topped with a narrow-tailored sweater the color of melted chocolate. The seams on the sweater are perfect and unstretched; it has to be new. The second time Jared runs his hand through his hair, sighing as it falls back around his temples, Jensen steps up.

"Sorry I'm late. I had to park on the top level of that garage."

"Sucks to be you," Jared says. He pulls Jensen into a casual, one-armed hug. "I got a handicapped spot."

"Then you can drive me up to my car later."

"Deal.” Jared looks up at the club’s neon sign. “We going in?"

Jensen takes a deep breath. Half the people he works with are probably inside celebrating Paul's recent engagement. Paul and Jensen aren’t close—they've never really hung out beyond the walls of EKI—but Jensen shouldn't shirk any more social functions with his coworkers. He doesn't want to be _that guy_.

"Come on." Jared nudges his shoulder, steering him towards the entrance. "I didn't get dressed up for you to bail."

"I like the sweater," Jensen says as they walk into the swanky bar. "All that brown makes you look like a teddy bear."

"A sexy one?"

"Is there such a thing?" Jensen smirks, falling into a full grin when Jared cuffs the back of his head affectionately.

Kobalt's main bar is a metal and frosted glass contraption lit from behind with a soft blue glow. Jared doesn't lean on it and Jensen follows suit. He doesn't want to crush the damn thing. When Jensen's request for a Coors Light is shot down with a scowl from the bartender, Jared orders them each a Fat Tire.

"It's good, trust me," Jared says. He pays before Jensen can reach for his wallet. "I've got this round. Where's your group?"

The publicity minions from EKI are gathered in a corner, guarding a couch and several black stools, and it's hard to say which choice of seating looks more uncomfortable. Jared gives him a nod after Jensen asks if they can just stand instead.

Most of the group recognizes Jared from passing him at the security desk every day, and Jared trades a few friendly handshakes. Jensen introduces him to Melanie's husband Turner and a few others Jared's never met. He doesn't use the word _boyfriend_ and Jared never corrects him.

It's not as if they've had a chance to do anything beyond kissing, let alone talk terms.

Only an hour into the party, with their beers empty, Jensen's ready to ditch the place. Jared's tolerating conversations with other people, but Jensen notices his eyes wandering or retreating into idle thought. When there's an opening, Jensen insinuates himself between Jared and Melanie, stealing the man away.

"I don't really think this is my kind of place," he says.

Jared sets their empty glasses on a spindly cocktail table and grins.

"Thank god, I was starting to worry."

"Wanna head somewhere else?"

"They're your friends..."

Jensen waves that off and wastes no time saying goodbye. He follows Jared out onto the sidewalk, a rant already on his tongue.

"Seriously. What kind of bar is too expensive to drink at, too pretentious to dance at, and too uptight to relax at?"

"Not my kind of bar," Jared agrees.

"Want to head to Keegan's?" Jensen consciously tempers his stride to match Jared's. "I know you got all dolled up, so I'd hate to waste the outfit by sending you home early."

Jared winks. "You'd better make the most of me like this."

Keegan's is a world away from the stuffy atmosphere at Kobalt. Jared's eyes lose their tightness as soon as he's able to stretch out in one of the wide leather booths. Even Jensen sighs when he sits down, laying his arms over the back of the booth.

"So much better," Jared says, pulling two folded menus out of the napkin holder at the end of the table. "I could eat. Want to share a plate of chicken quesadillas?"

On the flat-screen behind the bar, NFL Classic is featuring one of last season's snow-bowls (the Patriots versus the Bears). A server arrives to take their order within minutes, dropping off two beers on her next pass. This is way more Jensen's speed. Casual setting, decent food, and a date who won’t end up in pain from standing around awkwardly for hours.

"You ready for tomorrow?" Jared asks.

Jensen finds it easier to flirt when he's relaxed, and he smirks. "For kicking your ass?" 

"Hell no. The couples rule is firmly back in effect," Jared says, dropping an unmistakable hint. "There's no way I want a repeat of last week's mayhem. You're too quick. Covering your ass is hard."

Jensen grins. Too easy.

"Harder than trying to guard your freakishly large wingspan? No way, man."

"Makes it easy to take jump-shots over midgets like you. How short are you anyway?"

"You're hilarious," Jensen drawls.

"So people tell me."

Their quesadilla is warm and spicy, Texas Pete's hotsauce mixed in with the cheddar and pepper-jack. With a mouthful of cheese and blackened chicken, Jared moans indecently and Jensen starts thinking ahead to some possible late-night fun. He's tailored plenty of fantasies to include Jared's broad back and narrow waist, and he thinks about licking the sweat off his throat and seeing just what he's got between his legs.

They each finish their second beer and call it quits.

"Any more and I'll be hurtin' on the court tomorrow," Jared says.

"I could give you a massage tonight if you want."

Jared's eyes turn warm and he smiles. "Tempting, but I don't want to be a total Gumby in the morning, and your massages...well, it'd be awesome, but my legs would turn to mush."

"Hey, these hands are magic," Jensen jokes, wiggling his fingers on the table. "You just say the word, and they're yours."

"That so?"

Jensen suddenly wishes he had another beer to drink from, because the bar feels ten degrees hotter. He clears his throat instead.

"We should head out, don't you think?"

Glancing at his watch, Jared says. "Yeah. We've both gotta be fresh since we'll be back on the same team."

"Couples rule, huh?"

Jared nods, telling Jensen everything he needs to know. His heart jumps so hard it skips a beat and continues its little dance all the way out into the parking lot after they settle their tab. Since Jared had driven them over from Kobalt, they pile into his truck and head back to the parking garage. Jensen leans back in the passenger seat and watches the evolution of Jared's smile—from a twist in the right corner, to a small, unconscious grin, to a full blown smile with teeth when he notices Jensen staring at him.

"What?"

"Nothing," Jensen says, "you just get all flustered when I stare at you for too long."

"I know I'm pretty, you don't have to act like such a stalker, man."

"You always give your stalkers rides?"

"That depends."

"On what?"

Jared looks over, smirk lit up as he speeds under a streetlight. "You'll have to figure that out. Gotta let me have a little mystery to keep you interested."

He pulls the truck into an empty spot beside Jensen's Acura and lets the engine idle. All those plans Jensen had conjured for how the rest of the night might go have faded, but not disappointingly. If Jensen bypasses the demands of his dick and is honest, he's not ready to get Jared into bed. He's _willing_ , but there's a difference, and he doesn’t want Jared to end up as another notch on his (mostly un-notched) bedpost. He can't say that out loud, but Jared may understand given the way he turns and looks over at Jensen.

"I'd ask you back to my place…" Jared begins, and Jensen naturally finishes his thought. "But it's late, and we have the game."

Smile going soft, Jensen nods. "Right."

Their stares lock for a second beyond casual. Jensen leans across the console to find Jared's lips meeting him halfway. Whether he gets more out of tonight or not, Jensen can't _not_ kiss Jared; it's a physical impossibility. If he'd paid attention in math all those years ago, he could come up with an equation, or possibly a graph, about how his ability to resist kissing Jared came out pretty close to zero.

Jared's tongue distracts him, the insistent manner with which it coaxes Jensen away from any other thoughts. They kiss thoroughly but quietly, only the thinnest splinter of light from the parking garage sneaking between Jensen's barely opened eyelids. He tries pulling Jared deeper into the kiss but stops when he hears a bitten-off gasp.

The skin over the bridge of Jared's nose is tight and he's in the middle of a deep, measured exhale.

"What's wrong?"

"Just turned the wrong way," Jared says twisting forward in small increments. "I felt a wrench in my back, but it's going away."

Jensen watches carefully to pick out any deeper pains, but Jared only sighs when he's facing the windshield.

"I think it's okay, just a twinge."

An offer to give Jared another massage is on the tip of Jensen's tongue, but he holds it back. "I should take off anyway." Jared pouts at that, and he adds, "Clearly, if I stay, you're gonna be tempted to kiss me and hurt your back again."

"So, you're the irresistible one here?"

Jensen's smile hurts his cheeks. "Hey, you said it."

A few minutes and one easy-on-the-spine kiss later, Jensen's out of the truck and watching Jared drive away. And since he's alone with his car and a wide open sky, he doesn't bother wiping the grin off his face.

&&&&&

Jared picks teams and Jensen rolls his eyes as he, Jared, Jamie, and Jimmy all end up on the yellow squad. Plus Mark, who hits Jared in the shoulder and says, "Dude, you're so weird." The only player who's not amused with the lineup is Ben; he slumps along at the outside of the group, tugging on his red wristband.

As the teams talk strategy, Jensen catches Jared watching Ben. "Everything alright?"

"Yeah." Jared turns back to the huddle. "Nothing to worry about. You up for a challenge?"

"You mean, am I up for guarding Blake?"

"Basically," Jared says with a grin. "It's either him or Ben, and Ben looks like he's ready to kick someone's ass."

"So you're taking one for the team, huh?" Jimmy asks, slapping Jared on the hip with a gloved hand. "Way to play, man."

The yellow squad breaks their huddle, Jensen following Jared to the other side of the court. Jared turns and grabs Jensen's wrist, fingers lightly teasing the thin skin on the underside of his forearm under the guise of unscrunching Jensen's wristband.

"Hey!" They look up and see Ben glaring at them. "Try not to bump dicks too much out on the court today," Ben calls. Jensen frowns—there's nothing friendly behind Ben's taunt—but Jared shakes his head.

"Speaking of dicks," Jared yells, both squads taking notice, "are you trying your best to be one?" He's grinning, but it's too tight at the corners to be genuine. Ben opens his mouth, something venomous in his eyes, but DJ puts a hand on his shoulder and says, "C'mon, dude. Let's just play."

The first game's as rough as Jensen predicted last night, tension pulling everyone's strings. Even Jimmy and Jamie, consistently the most good-natured players, are scowling more than smiling. Jared is stuck covering Ben whose mood hasn't improved. Ben's rougher than necessary, every move combative as he tries to keep Jared from scoring a layup. Jensen can see the strain it's putting on Jared's leg and he wants to step up, get in Ben's face about it, but he's still the outsider in the group—Jensen doesn't want to risk making things worse by overstepping his bounds.

At the break, Jensen grabs a seat next to Jared on the bleachers. "You doing alright? That game got a little heated."

Jared winces. "Tell me about it. Ben's just like...I don't know. He's got it in for me today. I wonder what I did to piss him off."

"Let me guard him."

"You sure?"

"Not really," Jensen keeps his tone light. "But if we're gonna come back and win the next game, we need you open. I'll draw Ben off you." He doesn't bring up Jared's leg or his obvious fatigue, leaving Jared free to turn him down.

"Thanks. We'll put Mark on Blake—he's faster—and I'll take Lincoln." Jared fiddles with Jensen's wristband again, almost an unconscious gesture of comfort, looking distracted. Jensen drinks enough water to cool the burn in his lungs and ignores the way Ben's staring in their direction.

The second game is worse.

As soon as Jensen replaces Jared in the man-on-man coverage, Ben's attitude goes from cold to downright hostile. He comes hard on defense, shoving and swinging at Jensen whenever he has the ball, but he doesn't let up when Jensen passes off to another player. Normally, the teams call their own fouls, but no one's calling anything today, too busy trying to salvage the game from the tension. After one particularly dirty maneuver where Jensen's nearly tripped, Jared calls Ben out.

"Hey, man! Watch it!"

"Just trying to keep your _fuck buddy_ from scoring," Ben throws back, eyes on Jensen.

"C'mon guys"—that's Mark butting in—"let's just finish this game. And Ben? Cool it, seriously."

Ben tones down the bodily assault when the next play starts, using words to jab at Jensen instead. The barbs are harder to bear than Ben's court attack.

"Need your boyfriend to stand up for you, huh, Jensen? I can see why he likes fucking you. Great ass, and you won't put up a fight. I bet you just roll over and give it up."

Jensen dribbles past Ben the next time he has the ball, driving his elbow deliberately into Ben's side but the guy just won't let up.

"Jared will be through with you soon enough. His boys never stick around for long, and you're no different."

Before today, Jensen's never looked upon Ben as anything but a decent guy: funny, upbeat, and constantly flirting with DJ thinking they're being discreet. That opinion sinks faster than a boulder in water as Ben continues spitting vulgarities at Jensen, tone low enough to keep his words between the two of them. There's a part of Jensen that's glad Jared can't hear, or that pained scowl on Jared's face might morph into a physical reaction.

Jensen's relieved when the game finally ends, the yellow squad victorious despite Ben's interference. Players are hunched over, catching their breath, and celebrations kept to a minimum until Mark wheezes and says, "Damn, that was nuts. Miracle victory for the J-squad."

Clearly it's meant as a joke, but Jensen can see the moment Ben snaps.

"The J-squad? Are you fucking serious?"

"Ben—"

But Ben rolls right through DJ's attempt to cut him off. "No, I'm fucking sick of y'all treating this guy"—he jabs a finger in Jensen's direction—"like he's a part of this group. He's just the _dude_ Jared happens to be banging this week, and he'll be outta here as soon as Jared drops him for someone else!"

"Whoa, Ben! You are outta line, man." Dragging his left leg, Jared tries to move between Ben and the group. Beyond listening, Ben throws his hands up and catches Jared's arm, knocking him off balance and sending Jared into a backwards sprawl.

Fortunately Jensen's there to catch him before his leg buckles, hauling Jared up against his chest. Back to front, it's some of the most significant physical contact they've shared, but it's under the wrong circumstances.

"Hey, hey, hey!" It's Blake's turn to step up, breaking away from the rest of the shocked faces. "That's enough!" Ben doesn't stand down and immediately Mark joins the human blockade between Jared and Ben. DJ comes forward, albeit more reluctantly, with his expression set in stone.

Suddenly Jensen understands what he's seeing. Blake, Mark, DJ, and Jared—they’d all served together overseas. Their bond goes deeper than friendship; it's a different kind of fraternity. A true band of brothers. Jensen's seeing them as a unit for the first time, and it's an intimidating sight.

Caitlin and Jamie are left staring. Jimmy's got his hands on his wheels and Lincoln's ready to jump forward.

"Guys, let's just…" Jared sighs, pushing away from Jensen's chest. "Everybody chill.”

"The hell with this," Ben says, turning and stomping off towards the locker room. DJ reaches out to stop him but the contact falls short, and then he's gone and the rest of the group is left silent in his wake.

Ben's vicious words come back to Jensen when he and Jared are in the VA parking lot fidgeting with their gym bags. Jared hasn't said anything since Ben stalked off and the rest of the group splintered to do whatever it is they do with their Saturday afternoons. Jensen waits for Jared to break the silence; anything Jensen says will get muddled in confusion and volatile emotion. He's not angry, he's just...well, he's just waiting.

"Today was shit," Jared mutters. "I didn't know things were gonna get so bad."

"How would you have known?"

Jared shakes his head, voice developing a sharp edge. "I can't believe Ben. I mean, I can't believe he would say stuff like that, start shit after he and I...I don't know. Maybe something happened."

"The things Ben said—"

"Jensen, don't. Please."

Going against a number of misgivings, Jensen doesn't pursue it. He watches Jared stir and fume, teeth biting into the skin above his lip. Instead, he says, "Do you want to grab lunch or come over?"

Jared relaxes and it looks like he might say yes, but then DJ walks out of the rec center, head hung low. Jared's eyes follow DJ all the way to the bus stop in front of the center before he turns back to Jensen.

"I think I'm gonna stick around, talk to DJ. Maybe he knows what happened. Do you—"

"No," Jensen says. "I'll head home. I've got some work."

"Sure, sure." Jared scratches the back of his neck, tries to show Jensen that he's alright, but Jensen's not buying it. "I'll call you later, okay?" 

He yanks Jensen into a hug before he can decide how to respond. Jensen would write it off as a totally casual, strictly-friends gesture, except for the way Jared's fingers curl into his shirt and his breath shakes across Jensen's cheek. 

"I'm sorry, Jensen."

Until he hears it, Jensen doesn't realize that he's been waiting for an apology. He commits to the hug, laying his palm over Jared's shoulder blade, and he hopes Jared understands that he can talk to Jensen about this.

"Go do what you need to do. Call me whenever, I should be around." Jensen walks away and when he gets to his car, Jared's still standing by his truck, eyes on the faded yellow paint beneath his feet.

&&&&&

“I see I’ll be winning some of my money back,” Warren remarks as Jensen bogeys on the tenth hole. “Is something wrong?”

Jensen whacks his putter against the green.

“Trouble with your soldier?”

“You could say that,” Jensen tells him, angrily marking his card.

Warren silently presses him, cloudy eyes prying for information. The sky is a similar shade of gray, a stiff breeze keeping most golfers off the course this morning. It feels as if Jensen and Warren have the back nine to themselves, so he lingers on the eleventh tee and gives Warren the basics, tells his friend how helpless he’d felt in the face of Ben’s outburst and Jared’s avoidance.

“I don’t know why I’m so upset,” Jensen says. “We’re not _together_.”

The wind picks up. Warren turns away from the tee to wait out the breeze. “Of course you are.”

“I’m supposed to let you define my relationship?”

“If it looks like a duck, and quacks like a duck…”

“Okay,” Jensen stops him. “You can shut up now.”

They continue playing, keeping an eye on the weather. Walking the fairway on the fifteenth hole, Warren finally circles back to Jared. “You may not know what you have with Jared, but you’ll find out tomorrow how he defines it.”

“How do you figure?” Jensen asks.

“Jared will either seek you out to explain, or he won’t.”

Jensen sighs. The sky reflects his mood, overcast and gloomy. “And if he doesn’t?”

Warren’s elevator eyes take him in from head to toe. “I think that’s highly unlikely, my dear.”

&&&&&

Jensen's trying to talk himself into taking an early lunch on Monday when Cindy taps her nails on his office door.

"You've got a visitor." Jensen's surprised to see Jared standing right behind her. "I'm a little jealous, actually."

"Thanks for leading me back here," Jared says politely, his big hand on Cindy's shoulder. He watches her leave before facing Jensen. "She was just telling me about how her dad served in the military."

"Huh, I didn't know that. Where'd he serve?"

"He was in Iraq."

Jared's not wearing his security uniform, jeans and a blue t-shirt in place of the boxy jacket and green tie. His hair is dark and slightly damp, finger-combed away from his forehead, and he's hovering in Jensen's doorway like he's waiting for permission. Recalling Warren’s words on the golf course, Jensen feels a swell of warmth in his gut. 

And apparently it's up to Jensen to get things rolling. "So what's up? You weren't downstairs this morning.”

Jared shrugs. "Yeah, I have a few sick days racked up and decided to use one. After what happened this weekend, I needed some extra time." Jared looks around the office, twisting to see if anyone's watching them. "Is it okay that I’m up here?"

Jensen nods. "I'm glad you're here. I was worried after Saturday."

Something dims the light in Jared's eyes. He sits down across from Jensen and folds his hands over his lap. "It was really late by the time I got home on Saturday, and I felt like shit yesterday." He scowls. "Not exactly the weekend I had planned."

"I get it." Jensen hadn't put it at the top of his list either. "Did you figure out why Ben was acting so crazy?"

"Car accident," says Jared, bluntly. "He's okay, though. It was a near miss," he adds before Jensen can ask. "It just fucked with his head and made him tense. No big deal."

"Tense." Jensen recalls Ben exhibiting much more than _tension_.

"Something made him snap at the game. I don't know, but DJ told me he'd had a pretty bad week on top of that, and Saturday he just got really messed up."

Jensen could sit here and listen to Jared list off one hundred excuses for Ben's attitude, but none of them would quash his anxiety. Ben's violent outburst had raised a number of issues, none of which Jared has touched on, but damn if Jensen’s going to be the one bringing them up. Considering how Ben had treated Jared, the horrible things he’d said, Jensen assumed Jared would be angrier. Instead, he’s almost dismissive.

The intrusive ring of his office phone saves him from having to fill the void in their uncharacteristically awkward conversation.

"Jensen Ackles." Jared averts his eyes as if that will give Jensen privacy. "Sure, Eric. Can you give me ten minutes? Alright, thanks." Jensen hangs up and sighs. "Meeting with the boss."

"Oh, right. I'll get outta your way. I meant to…well, there were a few things I wanted to tell you."

"Are you free tonight?" Jensen asks, surprised how quickly the offer comes out. For once, his heart is outpacing his brain. "Come over, we'll order something for dinner, and then you can tell me. Alright?"

This time, Jared's smile is genuine. "Dude, we're on. Text your address and I'll pick up food on the way."

"I'm just supposed to let you order my dinner?"

Jared laughs. "You'll take what I give you, Ackles."

&&&&&

Jared shows up at 7:30 with two bags of takeout and a six-pack of root beer already chilled. Catching a whiff of something warm and sizzling, Jensen's stomach does a happy flip.

"You brought burgers?"

"And fries," proclaims Jared. "No one's above a little cheese and grease, man."

"Where'd you get this stuff?"

"Ginn's. That place is amazing. Ever been?"

Jensen shakes his head. "But I've always wanted to try it."

As if he's won some small victory, Jared becomes more animated, helping Jensen pull together plates, napkins, and utensils, and laying them out on the unused half of Jensen's dining room table. Jensen listens with one ear as Jared rambles about the best burgers he's ever had, sounding like the overly excitable host of a road-trip food show.

The rest of Jensen's mind is circling around the toxic words that kicked off this drama. The implication that Jared slept around—and that's putting it mildly—remains at the forefront. Technically it's none of Jensen's business. Hell, it's not even a bad thing if that's the way Jared chose to live his life. But if Jared is fucking his way through the gay population of Dallas, why hasn't he made a serious move on Jensen? 

And then there's the other thing Ben had thrown out in the middle of his tirade. Maybe no one else had noticed, but it's been prickling at Jensen's subconscious, almost worse than the idea of Jared hooking up with a string of disposable guys.

 _Not part of the group_.

It stung like peroxide on a wound that's been left to fester for years, even more painful because it's true. Jensen had worn a uniform, but it wasn’t the right one; he’d never committed to that life. Attending the Citadel was an honor, and a hell of a lot of work, but it was like playing dress-up compared to what Jared and his friends have gone through.

Ben was right. Jensen can't argue because he doesn't belong. Lying in bed with nothing to do but think, Jensen worried that Jared's finally realized it, too, Ben's words helping him to a conclusion he should have made a month ago.

"Did that meeting with your boss go okay?" Jared asks, the corner of his mouth slick with juices from his burger.

"It was just to catch him up to speed on a couple high-priority projects. He was out of the office last week." Jensen savors a long pull from his bottle. He hasn't had decent root beer in years. "Are you gonna be back at work tomorrow?"

"Yeah." Jared leans back and pats his stomach. "Can't get too used to spending an entire day on my couch. It's bad for my leg. Why, do you miss me yet?"

Jensen maintains a straight face. "I had to take my coffee break in my office."

"How'd that treat you?"

"I was productive. So, you know, it sucked."

Some of the pressure that's built up on Jensen's shoulders lightens when Jared laughs and takes a huge, messy bite of his barbecue burger, sauce smearing over the grease on his lips. Their banter isn't effortless the way it was before. That's what pissed Jensen off the most. Ben's outburst drove a wedge between Jared and Jensen, not just physically, but in their manner with one another.

It's almost nine when Jensen dumps their plates in the kitchen sink. He grabs the last two root beers from the fridge and waits for Jared to tie off the trash bag stuffed full of takeout containers before leading him into the living room.

Jensen wants to be comfortable if they’re going to have a serious talk. He almost smiles when Jared eases down next to him on the couch, knees bumping, except Jared's expression is cloudy and unreadable.

Jared sighs. "Guess I've gotta do this, huh?"

"It's up to you. I'm feeling pretty forgiving after that burger."

The downward twist of Jared's mouth lessens. "I told you they were good. So, listen. About Ben..."

Jensen's getting impulses to stop him right there and say _fuck it_ to talking. He'd kiss away the last remnants of Jared's frown and ride this relationship as far as it'll take him, figuring shit out along the way. But Jared steamrolls on and Jensen tells himself to be patient.

"We slept together a few months ago, before the basketball thing really got started. When I was first shipped back to Texas, Ben and I shared a hospital room for a little while. After that, we stuck around for physical therapy and whatever. We went out for drinks one night and, yeah. I don't know _why_ he flipped out and went after you like he did," Jared adds more sharply, "but all that shit was directed at me. I'm sorry you had to hear it."

Jensen's not sure which thread to start tugging on to unravel Jared's confession.

"Did you and Ben date?"

"No," Jared is quick to say. "Nothing like that. It was just a couple of times and then we lost interest."

"We?"

"It was mutual, trust me. There's nothing...I mean, he's not secretly still into me and I'm definitely, _definitely_ not trying to start anything with him again. Besides, you've seen how he and DJ are together."

"So, Saturday…that wasn't jealousy?"

Jared sets his jaw, lips hardly moving at first. "No, but even if it was, I don't care. It doesn't matter, Jensen." His voice gains momentum. "Ben and I happened months ago and I'd put it behind me. Ben did too, or that's what I thought. It had to be the car accident setting him off, and since you and I were there, he lashed out at us."

Clearing his throat of the emotions Jared is stirring up, Jensen ponders, pulling up information from news magazines and shows like _60 Minutes_. "Maybe it was a traumatic stress reaction. Ben was in combat, right?"

Jared nods, more tense than before, but he allows Jensen to continue.

"If something happened to him, the accident could have pulled up some pretty bad memories."

"Right."

"I mean, PTSD makes sense."

Jared shrugs, looking away. Jensen logs his reaction for later. "I talked to DJ this afternoon and he said Ben's doing okay."

"Is he seeing a therapist?"

Jared hunches his shoulders again. "Saturday was just too much for him. I'm sure he's better now."

"I'm just glad you're okay," Jensen says, guiding the conversation out of dark waters. "When you almost fell, you really could have wrenched your back, or done damage to your muscles that would have kept you off your feet for a few days."

"I've been trying not to think about it," Jared says through clenched teeth. After a few seconds he relaxes, letting out a long sigh. "Look, can we give this stuff a rest for tonight?" He leans towards Jensen, lips advancing. "I haven't even gotten to kiss you and I _really_ fucking want to."

Jensen is perfectly willing to oblige Jared, meeting him halfway. Jared holds his face gently, resting their foreheads together for a moment of silence before tipping his chin down and kissing Jensen's upper lip. He lingers, takes his sweet time, and Jensen lets him, blood running at a steady warmth instead of burning.

The couch is long and deep, a relic from Jensen's first post-college apartment. Stormcloud gray with massive cushions that give Jared and Jensen plenty of room to make themselves comfortable around each other. Their hands wander but the pressure never crosses into arousing. Though Jensen can feel his hips rolling forward against Jared's thigh, he's content to keep the heavy action between their lips.

Making out is _amazing_. Jensen had forgotten the sleepy luxury of necking on the sofa. No pretense, just lips and tongues and occasionally the soft nip of teeth to be playful. Jensen could slip into sleep right here and now, stomach full and mind at ease. 

He eventually pulls back and says, "We probably can't keep this going all night, can we?"

"Man," Jared sighs and squeezes Jensen's hand. "I think I ate too much grease to get it up right now."

Jensen laughs over his yawn.

"How about Friday night?"

"Another date?" Jared asks.

"I was thinking more along the lines of you coming over here, ordering dinner, and in the morning we can go to basketball together."

"You’re asking me to spend the night?"

Jensen shifts nervously on the couch. "That's the idea."

Biting his lower lip, Jared's eyes fall to his hands. "You still want to have sex with me? After what Ben said..."

"I don't know who he was talking about," Jensen insists. "It didn't sound like anyone I know, and definitely not the guy who's been taking coffee breaks with me for a month, who asked me to kiss him when he was all loopy on his meds."

Jensen's never seen a shy side to Jared, but it's there now in the subtle tilt of his mouth and the way he looks at Jensen through his eyelashes. It disappears quickly when he sighs and says, "It _was_ me. When I first got out of the hospital…"

The hesitation is enough for Jensen to cut in. "You don't have to tell me now. It's okay." Jensen won't ruin the end of the night by dredging up more drama. "I'll see you tomorrow, right?"

"Someone's gotta keep you from being so productive on your breaks."

They stop to kiss after Jared finds his boots, one on and one off as he presses Jensen against the wall, and again at the door with one of Jensen's hands wrapped around the doorknob.

After Jared's truck pulls away, Jensen locks up and heads straight to bed, eager to carry this feeling all the way into tomorrow.

&&&&&

Jensen walks into the break room on Thursday afternoon and finds Cindy by herself, flipping distractedly through a glossy magazine. She looks up when Jensen throws his leftover Firecracker chicken into the microwave.

"Oh, hey." Cindy perks up, sweeping feathered bangs behind her ear. "I saw you talking to Jared when I left for lunch yesterday. You guys seem pretty close these days. Are you, like, dating?"

Since Jensen began disappearing from the office during coffee breaks, Cindy and Melanie have toned down their Jared-related gossip. At least while Jensen's around. Now that Cindy's not fawning over Jared's romantic availability for herself, Jensen's more willing to talk to her.

"We're...yeah, I guess." He's surprised by how warm his face feels. Cindy doesn't really need his answer; the blush is enough. "Jared told me that your father was stationed in Iraq."

She shrugs. "I don't usually meet a lot of guys who are in the Army, but Jared mentioned that he'd been overseas so I told him about my dad."

"Is he still deployed?"

Cindy's brown eyes harden into iron, protective but not hostile. "My dad was killed on his second tour."

"Shit," Jensen curses under his breath. "I'm sorry."

She waves it off. "It was almost four years ago, and he died a hero. But my mom doesn't like to talk about him, so when I found out Jared was in the Army, I thought he might understand. You don't mind, right?"

Jensen needs a few seconds to realize what's she's asking. "That you talk to Jared? Of course not!" He laughs, amused, and sees Cindy begin to smile again. "I know y'all think he's quiet, but once you get him started, he can talk your ear off about anything."

"Chatty, huh?" Cindy smirks. "I wouldn't know anything about that."

They're both laughing now and Jensen almost misses the microwave ding behind him. He decides to eat with Cindy, seeing her in a new light as they continue to talk about everything but work, the conversation longer and more personal than anything they've shared in the past. When he's back in his office, Jensen grabs his cell and shoots Jared a quick text.

— _Is Blake single?_

Jared's response only takes a minute. — _Dumping me already? He's not as good in bed as I am._

— _I wouldn't know. If you'd stop playing hard to get..._ Jensen sends back, unable to resist.

— _Burn. I have skills._

— _I'd like to see those before I'm too old to appreciate a good BJ._

— _Would come up there right now but ur desk isn't big enough for what I want to do to u._

Jensen laughs like an idiot in the middle of his office, mostly to cover the interested twitch of his dick.

— _Srsly. Think Blake would mind being set up w/ someone?_

— _As long as it's not you. Are you coming? Down for coffee, I mean :)_

Jensen can only imagine the grin Jared will be wearing when he walks into the lobby later. — _I'll come in an hour._

— _Damn right_ , Jared writes. — _Best. Break. Ever._

&&&&&

Instead of picking up takeout, Jensen stops at the grocery store on the way home. He buys a package of chicken breasts and thighs to cook on the grill, along with plenty of vegetables, and tells Jared to swing by any time after seven. Jensen sips a beer out on the patio while he waits for the charcoal to heat up, wondering if it's just nerves that have him a little worked up.

It's not that he isn't looking forward to the sex (he really, _really_ is), but he's not used to having so much invested in a relationship before he hits that step. 

Jensen's fairly easy. He's hooked up with guys and never seen them again, never asked anything beyond first names and preferred positions. Dating and waiting for sex, whether it's intentional or circumstantial, is the anomaly. What he's feeling might be pressure, which is also new. All teasing aside, Jensen wants to be as good as his word, making tonight as amazing as possible while proving that his connection with Jared goes beyond friendship.

But all those jitters are forgotten when Jared walks into the backyard with a bottle of red wine and a duffel bag that he drops on the patio with a smile.

"Just in case," he says, but Jensen fully intends to make sure he needs it.

While the chicken and peppers are on the grill, Jared scoots his patio chair closer to Jensen's and kisses him. The air is sweet with the tang of mesquite, only the barest hint of smoke creeping into Jensen's nose. They make out like teenagers who don't have anything else to do, stopping only when Jensen gets up to check their food. It's warm enough to eat out on the patio, plates on their laps and fingers messy with chicken and sauce. Jensen listens and laughs as Jared tells him stories about boot camp, and every so often he glances up to catch a warm, dark look in Jared's eyes, something not put there by the smoke.

When dinner is finished and the patio cleared, Jensen finds himself on his big old couch, practically in Jared's lap. Not that he's complaining, of course. Jared's hands are huge, wrapping around Jensen's lower back and holding him in place as their tongues slip into new territory, gaining and losing ground in a battle no one's seriously trying to win.

“Clothes?” Jensen asks.

“Hell no.” Jared eagerly starts stripping from the waist up, dog tags dropping onto his bare chest with a jangle. The sight of curved-edged, silver metal stops Jensen’s breath, heat flowing into his cock like lava. _Hello_ , new kink.

Jared takes note of the lust blowing out Jensen’s pupils. He smirks, tears Jensen’s t-shirt over his head and crushes their chests together. The tags are warm from perpetually sitting next to Jared’s heart, the badges he wears ever-present yet out of sight. Jensen slams his mouth down over Jared’s, savors the dig of metal into his skin. As he flips his tongue behind Jared’s teeth, fingers tucked under his chin, Jensen pictures the imprint Jared’s tags could leave on his chest: Jared’s name spelled out in tiny block letters. Marking him.

Jensen shivers.

Getting totally naked requires more of an effort. Jensen stands and shimmies out of his jeans, cock pressing for an immediate introduction. He drops his underwear and watches Jared’s face at the same time, satisfied with the way Jared’s lips open around a silent _wow_. Jensen loves knowing that his boyfriend finds everything about him impressive.

Speaking of impressive… Jensen helps Jared push his pants down his legs, mindful of the scarring. He takes a second to admire the way Jared’s charcoal-gray boxer briefs surround his dick, rolling over the swell like a wave. But exposed, his cock looks even better. The same way Jensen had, Jared studies his expression, but he has nothing to be ashamed of. His dick bears a healthy flush and a natural curve, a wide head that should fit Jensen’s lips perfectly. Jensen doesn’t let Jared’s scars impede his appreciation. On the contrary, they are a part of him, and Jensen is over the moon with the man laid out in front of him.

What follows is a passionate mutual exploration. Learning nuances of physical affection and charting sweet spots. Jensen plants a kiss in the crook of Jared’s elbow as he’s lying beneath Jensen on the couch, enjoys the way Jared’s stomach clenches with restrained amusement.

Jared exploits the sensitivity of Jensen’s nipples, raising them to peaks between his fingers before curling his tongue around the stiff points. He rolls Jensen onto his side, his body a wall between Jensen and the living room, and kisses the heat out of his mouth. 

Jensen’s orgasm sneaks up on him. The spike of pleasure races up his spine and overtakes his senses. Through a haze of white light, he looks across at Jared’s face, now locked in the same rapturous high. He’s fucking beautiful, and Jensen can’t wait to see that same expression again and again.

Thank god they have all night.

&&&&&

Jensen hauls himself out of bed at six a.m. with a pressing need to pee. He glances back and smiles at his boyfriend's sprawl, limbs taking up every inch of space Jensen hadn’t occupied.

When Jensen's done, he washes his hands and splashes cool water on his face, barely aware of the fact that he's completely naked until a warm draft hits his back from the bathroom door opening. He straightens and finds Jared's eyes in the mirror. A fall green in the sun, Jared's eyes are dark and sultry in the dimmed light, no trace of sleepiness that Jensen sees in his own reflection.

That lethargy is quickly vanishing.

"Getting a good show over there?" Jensen's voice comes out rougher than he intends.

"Absolutely." Jared's response isn't much above a whisper, but that combined with the intensity in his expression makes Jensen's knees shake. He steps up against Jensen’s back, chest rumbling. "And I really like what I see." His lips skim from Jensen's shoulder up the side of his neck, hands and thumbs venturing into the grooves carved out below Jensen's hips. Jared stands slightly askew, keeping his left side hidden behind Jensen's body in their slotted reflection.

They're both morning-hard. Jensen's not certain his dick's gone totally soft in the last ten hours they’ve spent in close proximity, but he's swelling even more now with Jared's cock throbbing against the back of his thigh.

"We taking this back to bed?"

"Mmm," Jared hums noncommittally, sucking lightly over a muscle in Jensen's throat.

"Is that a yes or a no?"

"I think we oughta stay right here." Jared's drawl is more pronounced when he's turned on, long vowels rolling slowly off his tongue. "I haven't had a chance to fully appreciate your body yet," he says, counting up Jensen's ribs until he can pluck nipples between his fingers.

"Had plenty of chances last night."

Jared's lips are close to Jensen's ear, whispering, "This is different. I want to see you get off. Want you to show me what makes you come."

"You just want to watch?" Jensen's tongue stumbles over the words, his eyes never leaving Jared's where they meet in the mirror.

"It'll be a valuable learning experience," Jared says roughly. "And maybe I'll help you along. You never know."

In the entirety of Jensen's sexual experience, he's never _performed_ for someone like this. He has stripped and teased, danced in next to nothing, but this goes beyond playful. It's intimate with Jared watching him so closely, noting every breath Jensen takes.

To encourage Jensen past his shock, Jared takes one of Jensen's hands and places it on his cock, engorged at the mere thought of getting off _for_ Jared.

"This is a good place to start," Jared teases in a whisper.

Jensen grabs the counter with his free hand, slowly moving the other down to the base of his cock and gripping, the way he'd normally begin a little self-pleasure. Surprisingly, Jared keeps his hand over Jensen's—barely applying any pressure—as if his muscles can commit movements to memory.

And Jensen doesn't stop or ask Jared if it's good, or _is this what you want?_ His body knows just what to do; Jared's along for the ride. Not that he's quiet about it.

"You're so fucking gorgeous, Jensen," he says, kissing the back of Jensen's neck. "I don't care if you know it or if you've heard it a hundred times. I needed to say it. I've wanted to say it since the first day I talked to you."

Jensen can't help moaning and he feels Jared smile against his shoulder blade. He swells even harder under their joined hands, Jared's fingers rubbing against the head of his cock on every other upstroke.

"There's so much I've thought about doing with you." Jared's mouth is back by Jensen's ear, his lips dark. "So many things I want to try. I spend all day just thinking about what we could be doing."

"Tell me," Jensen says, his reflection wide-eyed and pleading. He's close, hips jerking forward into their combined grip.

"No, I'm gonna show you." Jared drops his other hand from Jensen's stomach, curving around the muscle of Jensen's ass. His fingertips curl inward, flirting deeper into his cleft. "I want you to keep me around for a long time, because there's so much I wanna do," Jared adds, voice unsteady for the first time since he walked into the bathroom.

"I know you're close.” Jared speaks the truth; Jensen's barely clinging to the edge. "I can't wait to do this again, only I'm gonna get you off next time—show you everything I've learned. C'mon, Jensen..."

He can't take anymore. A second after Jared starts tickling his sac, tugging gently while his other hand is groping Jensen's ass, Jensen comes. Hard. Harder than he has all night, hips pounding through his fist like he's fucking Jared's ass and pulsing inside its heat. Jared's arms constrict around him, heart thumping rapidly against Jensen's back. When Jensen’s finally able to focus, he sees Jared's dark gaze fixated on the head of Jensen's spent, still-throbbing cock, wet with come.

"Holy shit." It's the first thing Jensen manages to say afterward, held tight in Jared's arms.

Chin resting on Jensen's shoulder, Jared smiles, the consuming fire gone and replaced by smug accomplishment. Jensen spins around, hauling Jared into a slack-jawed, open mouth kiss, inscribing his appreciation on the roof of Jared's mouth with his tongue. Jensen couldn't care less about the sticky wetness on the back of his thighs from leaning into his own come on the bathroom counter.

"We might be a little late for basketball," Jensen growls.

"Huh?"

Jensen steers a dazed Jared into the bedroom, letting him get situated on the bed. Reclining against the pillows, Jared spreads his legs, cock sitting heavy to the right, curved up along his lower abs. Jensen salivates.

"Scratch that, we're definitely gonna be late."

"It's only, like, six thirty."

"I know." Jensen smirks, crawling up over Jared's legs. "But you're not even gonna remember your name after I blow you, so you'll need plenty of time to recover."

"Oh, I get—oh!" Jared moans as Jensen's lips fold around the head of his cock, coherency noticeably absent for the next forty-five minutes.

It's no surprise that they end up being _very late_ for basketball.

 

**PART THREE.**

_“Come on, you can do this.”_

_It’s just Jared and the mirror. Ben left for a physical therapy session, so Jared has their hospital room to himself for the first time since he landed stateside. About time, too—Jared’s family needed to get back to the real world and he was getting tired of telling them he was **okay**. Of smiling and agreeing that the scars would add to his character._

_Jared laughs with the jokes, but they’re bullshit. He can’t even bring himself to **look**._

_But that ends right now._

_Jared meets his own bloodshot gaze in the mirror. He’s gotten good at ignoring his condition, looking away before his eyes can touch on his thigh. When Ben’s in the room, Jared pretends the bandages aren’t there. Ben’s a decent roommate; he and Jared give each other the mutual courtesy of not asking._

_“Just look down,” he whispers, his reflection speaking the words with pale, chapped lips. The nurses had removed the majority of his bandages so Jared knows there’s **something** to see._

_He closes his eyes, shuddering as the heat of the explosion washes over him for the one-thousandth time since the convoy was ambushed. Trauma wiped the specifics from memory, but Jared can’t get rid of the sounds, the vibrations, the **burn**._

_Jared curses himself. “Son of a bitch. Just get it over with.” He knows it’s going to be bad. As much as he tried to ignore the looks, he’d seen his mom’s face morph into pity, his dad’s stoic brand of sympathy._

_If he can’t manage this, he’s never getting out of this room. And Jared wants so badly to be back in the world, back on the other **side** of the world with his unit, the only men who understand what he’s going through. He owes them his presence._

_He looks down and immediately wishes he hadn’t._

_In Afghanistan, a roadside bomb had changed his life in moments. Here at the Veterans Hospital in Dallas, it only takes a heartbeat to shatter what remains of his future. Each whorl of discolored, puckered skin spells the end of a dream. A stable career when the Army was finished with him; a steady boyfriend after Jared had a chance to reacquaint himself with his sexuality. A full life; a hale body._

_All of that disintegrates the second he sees the extent of his injuries: a Technicolor picture of the pain and agony he’s suffered for the last month. It’s disgusting. **Jared** is disgusting. Every square inch of imperfect skin covering his left thigh speaks of failure. Rage builds in his stomach—he wants to destroy the broken soldier staring back at him._

_But putting his fist through the mirror won’t help. It’ll only carve him up again._

_He limps back to bed, body sagging between his crutches. By the time Ben returns with a mouthful of expletives for the entire physical therapy process, Jared’s under the covers reading a book, slipping easily into his laidback persona._

_Pretense is all he has left._

&&&&&

"You can't tell a guy what to cook on his own grill! That's one of the tenets of man-code."

Jared rolls his eyes. "I had no idea you'd be offended if I brought ribs."

"Deeply offended," Jensen says in mock outrage, leaning forward over the security desk, wishing he could dip forward and kiss Jared right there in the lobby. "My grill, my rules."

"Don’t I get a say?" Jared drops his voice.

"Depends on what else you're bringing to the party."

Jared's laugh booms across the open space, turning a few heads. Rich, the other security guard on duty, doesn't look up from his monitor, engrossed in the elevator feeds.

"You still want me to talk to Blake, right?" Jared asks once they calm down, twirling his near-empty coffee cup. "I already asked Mark and Jamie, and they're coming."

"I heard the first date went well." Jensen thinks back to the day after Cindy and Blake's blind date—arranged mostly by Jensen—and to the way Cindy had beamed all the way through her recap. "What'd you hear from Blake? I mean, I like Cindy, but she's a little high maintenance."

"I think he likes her. Besides, Blake was an EOD specialist." Jensen raises his eyebrow and Jared explains, "It means he was trained to diffuse and dispose of bombs or IEDs in high-stress conditions. I'm pretty sure the guy can handle someone you think is high maintenance."

Jared's got a point, but... "Wait. _I_ think? Are you saying I don't know what I'm talking about?"

"Just that your opinion might be a little skewed," Jared says, smiling.

"'Cause I'm high maintenance?"

"Because you're a suit. My suit," he adds, slightly possessive.

Jensen grins, hearing no real insult in Jared's jests. The nickname has the horrifying side effect of turning Jensen on in public, and awkward, situations. Jensen remembers Jared calling him _suit_ the first time they played basketball, and now that they've been sleeping together for almost three weeks, the nickname has returned as a private joke.

"Um," Jensen coughs, "so that's a yes on asking Blake. I'll talk to Cindy when I go back up."

"This is gonna be a couples thing."

"Hmm?"

"Saturday night," Jared says. "All couples."

"It's a barbeque," Jensen tells him, wishing he had more coffee. It's been a long day already and seeing Jared has been his only reprieve. "That a problem?"

Jared smiles again. "Nope. Can I stay over?"

Warm with memories of Jared ‘staying over’ on previous weekends, Jensen nods. "I've got a golf game on Sunday afternoon, but that’s it.”

"With your friend?”

Jensen nods. Since Warren knew about Jared, it was only fair that Jensen told Jared about his old friend. He’d attempted to skirt around the fact that they’d been involved once upon a time, but Jared was smart enough to root out the truth.

“Do you want me to cancel?”

“Oh, no. It’s fine.” Jared smiles. “I’m sure you’ll have tons of fun swinging a club the day after our barbecue!”

"Jared"—Rich stands and tosses the crumpled remains of his paper-bag lunch in a trash can beneath the desk—"I'm gonna make a round. You got this?"

"Sure," Jared says, and turns back to Jensen. "Guess I'd better…"

"Yeah, I've got to get back upstairs." Jensen isn't looking forward to finishing his proposal, but he needs to get it out of the way in order to have a free weekend. "Don't forget to ask Blake."

"I'll text him right now," Jared promises. "Hey, Jensen?" He beckons with a finger and Jensen leans closer. "If I promise to make you scream, can I bring ribs?"

They may not be able to kiss, but Jensen looks up at Jared through lowered lashes, a promise of satisfaction in his smile.

"I would have caved for a reach-around in the shower."

Jensen is right about the proposal. He's still in the office when Jared texts to let him know that his shift's over. It's frustrating, but he texts back and tells Jared to go ahead without him.

They haven't established a routine yet, but Jensen's gotten used to meeting up Jared with as he’s leaving, saying goodbye face to face or heading out for a quick dinner before going their separate ways. Jensen finds himself striving to get to Friday with even more determination than before. He has turned his weekends over to Jared, happy to have his new boyfriend stay at his house. Things with Ben have calmed down, and they still play basketball on Saturday mornings, but they spend the rest of their time together alone, getting lost down every path two people take getting to know one another.

The barbeque is Jared's idea, a chance for his friends to hang out with Jensen off the court. With Mark and Blake there, it'll be a blast, but Jensen would much rather have Jared to himself. He hasn't quite gotten past the _Jared is all mine, all the time_ phase yet. Based on how much Jensen wants him, it could be a while before he stops thinking like a caveman.

On Cindy’s way out of the office, she pops her head in and asks if she needs to bring anything on Saturday night. He tells her that the guys will appreciate anything with sugar or frosting, the more the better. She grins brightly and promises to bring dessert.

Left alone on EKI's vacuous corporate floor, Jensen's this close to banging his head against his desk. He can't fucking wait for the weekend.

&&&&&

"Anyone ever tell you that you look hot working the grill?"

Jensen leans away from the wafting heat of his Weber and back into Jared's solid arms.

"Think so?"

Jared sneaks a kiss to the side of Jensen's neck and says, "Well, I'm just passing the message along from Mark, but yeah, I totally agree."

"Jackass." Then Jensen turns and calls out, "Thanks, Mark!"

On the patio, Mark laughs as he digs through the cooler for another beer. "Hey buddy, I meant it. You look damn good in that apron . It's got Jamie all worked up!" He picks up two cold, dripping longnecks and walks back inside where the game's playing on Jensen's fifty inch flatscreen.

"I'm a big fan of the apron, too," Jared says, louder now that they're alone in Jensen's backyard, cooking up a second round of ribs and chicken. 

When he arrived, Jared had wiggled his eyebrows and dropped the ribs triumphantly on Jensen's counter. Jensen's laugh was quickly cut off as Jared pressed him against the kitchen island and delivered on his promise to _entertain_ Jensen until he screamed. While the rest of the meat defrosted, Jensen dragged Jared into the bedroom and returned the favor. He’d jerked Jared off, two fingers teasing his hole while Jensen's lips mouthed at his ear.

Jared's fingers are fiddling with the tie on Jensen's apron. "Maybe we should just stay out here for the rest of the night. You in this apron..."

"And you smelling like barbeque sauce," Jensen mocks.

"It's sexy, right?"

"Only if you're a drumstick."

"Oh," Jared laughs, breath wafting past Jensen's ear. "I'll show you my dr—"

"Hey, Jare!" Blake's honeyed drawl breaks through Jared's innuendo. He sticks his head through the open patio doors. "You comin' back inside or what?"

"What's the score?"

Blake dips back inside to check. In those few seconds, Jared's forehead falls onto Jensen's shoulder and he takes a deep breath. It's not meant as a comfort, but Jensen feels something settle in his stomach.

"We're down by three," Blake yells. "You're jinxin' the game, being out here!"

"Meat's almost done," Jensen jumps into the conversation. "We'll be in there in a couple minutes."

"Son of a bitch," Jared mutters after Blake disappears.

Jensen starts pulling meat off the grill and says, "This was your idea."

"Was it? Huh. Can't we just ignore them until they go away?"

Jensen laughs and covers the grill. Jared doesn't actually sound upset; he's been more animated than usual since his buddies came over. Besides the confrontation with Ben weeks ago, Jared's always been easy going with his friends—never a cruel word or scathing remark. Jensen has known guys in the service, and even the ones who'd never done tours overseas weren't always on such an even keel. Maybe Jared's built differently—and Jensen is still fuzzy on the details of Jared's time in Afghanistan—but Jensen can't help keeping one eye open at all times, ready to catch even the slightest hint that Jared's sunny disposition isn't as faultless as he's seen.

But he's not about to let some half-crazy thought about Jared's personality get in the way of their first shindig as a couple.

Jensen doesn’t mean to get drunk, but everyone's talking, laughing, and having a great time. Co-hosting with Jared is effortless, and instead of over-sentimentalizing that idea, Jensen drinks to keep pace with Mark, rolling on high spirits. Jared never scowls or mother-hens when Jensen reaches for another beer; he stays sober without complaint, nursing the same microbrew throughout the game.

Blake and Cindy take off first. Standing out on the front step, Jensen and Cindy watch Blake (who may or may not be taller than Jared; an official ruling was never made) pull Jared into a two-armed bear hug. Blake whispers something only Jared can hear before pulling away and walking Cindy to his truck.

Jamie and Mark stick around long enough for Jensen and Mark to each polish off another beer, post-game show on mute as the four of them talk randomalities Jensen forgets about ten minutes later. Finally, when Jared and Jensen are alone and Jared has single-handedly wrangled the majority of the clean-up (Jensen knows he tried to help, seriously, but the couch was so _comfy_ ) they end up in the bedroom. Jensen lays down the ground rules.

"No sexy stuff," he says, the majority coming out as a garbled mess. He wags his finger at Jared, or possibly the oak armoire since they're both tall and dark.

"What?" The dark shape _is_ Jared, unless the armoire can talk.

"Don't do anything sexy."

"Want me to go?" Jared asks.

Jensen shakes his head once before deciding it's a really bad idea. "No," Jensen says. He's become rather attached to the crater Jared leaves in his bed every weekend. "Just don't, you know"—he waves at Jared's crotch—"don't tempt me."

Jared laughs. It’s too big of a boom for Jensen's senses in their delicate state. "What's wrong with you?"

"Too drunk to get it up." At least Jensen admits it and saves himself from explaining an embarrassing performance issue later on. "So I don't need you in here being all hot n' willing or anything."

"Oh my god. Okay." Jared steeples his fingers over his mouth for a second. "I'm gonna use the guest bath. You need to get into your bathroom and drink some water, take an Advil, and get undressed. Then, get in bed and I'll be back."

"Wait..." Jensen gives himself a clumsy pat-down. "I'm wearing clothes?"

"Go, Jensen!"

Ten minutes later Jared stands at the side of the bed, a pair of Jensen's nicest boxers fitting snugly around his hips.

Jensen groans. "I told you not to be sexy."

"That's like telling me not to be funny," Jared says. Jensen lets that one go, rolling and sinking into the downy softness beneath his head, and Jared gasps. "Oh my god! You don't think I'm funny, do you?"

"Hilarious. Now get in and stay on your side."

Jared climbs in and immediately violates Jensen's rule by tucking up against his back. Jensen would complain but the tilt-a-whirl in his head eases into a kiddie roller coaster as soon as Jared's arms are around him. Jared sighs, shifting his lower body.

"This is like going to an amazing steakhouse and then being told you can only order the lima beans."

Jensen’s bizarrely flattered. "You're sayin' sex with me is like eating steak?"

"Maybe," Jared teases. Jensen decides that's allowed. "But it's definitely better than lima beans."

"I got me a sweet talker here," Jensen mumbles, slowly tipping into the dark swell of oblivion.

"That's not all you've got."

"Nnnn, stop." Jensen flails back and grazes Jared's hip. 

"Okay. Okay. But what about kissing? I mean, if you can't get it up anyway, there's no harm. Right?"

"You wanna 'iss me?" Jensen makes it over onto his back, finding Jared's outline in the dark.

"All the time."

He feels warm breath on his lips, but nothing after that.

&&&&&

"Hey, Jare!" DJ pushes between Jared and Jensen, slinging his arm over Jared's shoulder. "Guess what?"

Rolling his eyes, Jared shares a lop-sided grin with Jensen. “What’s up, Silo?”

DJ giggles at his strange nickname, as ridiculous and drunk as Jensen's ever seen him. The artfully tousled hair he’d arrived with is now a mess from dozens of hugs. 

"I'm gay, man!"

"Really?" Jared mocks.

"Dude. Yes! I like dick and everything!”

“You guys hear that?” Jared shouts across the bar, his voice shot deep from all the beer he's been drinking. "Silo's gay!"

Someone hoots, "So are you, Iron Man!"

"Seriously?" Jared laughs. "No shit!"

Even sober, Jensen can't help getting caught up in the joy and excitement of the servicemen and women crowding The Plank on Friday night. DJ had invited the whole basketball gang, plus dozens of friends and family out to his uncle's bar to commemorate the official repeal of ‘Don't Ask, Don't Tell’ across all branches of the military. Like a bunch of rowdy children let off the leash, Jared and his buddies had been asking and telling, very loudly, all night. 

"Hey man, I got a question." Blake sidles up to the group, a beer in one hand and Cindy’s hand in the other.

"No dude," DJ says. "I never checked you out in the showers."

Blake pouts and Jensen stifles a laugh. The big man's acting as if DJ kicked his puppy. 

"Jare?"

"Sorry man. Me neither."

Pretending to wipe a tear from his eye, Blake whines, "I'm not pretty enough, am I?" He turns to Cindy. "Tell me I'm pretty, baby."

Cindy winks at Jensen. Her dark hair is piled up in a tousled knot, loose waves tucked behind her ears. She looks casual and relaxed, welcomed into the group just like Jensen.

"You're pretty," she insists gently. Blake sticks his tongue out at his friends. "I bet you're just too tall for these guys."

"Way too tall, man," DJ agrees, wobbling his head. "Look at Jared. I mean, the dude's a giant like you and you don't see me checking him out."

"And if you did, I'd have to object," Jensen says, prompting Jared to curl a possessive arm around his waist.

Lincoln, Caitlin, and Jimmy are gathered on the far side of the bar. Jimmy's date is a black haired woman Jensen recognizes as a nurse from the VA. Mark and Jamie are tucked in a booth sharing a huge plate of chili fries with Ben and another couple. There are smiles all around and Jensen's happy to see everyone so relaxed. Jared finds a familiar face every time he turns around, but never ditches Jensen, going so far as to drag him up to the bar with a finger through his belt loop when he needs a refill.

"Plenty of available guys here," Jensen teases while he's squeezed in between a bar stool and Jared's hip. "Afraid I'm gonna run off?"

"I'm not even giving you the chance," Jared says as he signals for another beer. Jensen counts this as his sixth. "Lots of people celebrating their sexuality. Probably lookin' to _celebrate_ a little in private, too."

"Yeah?"

"Oh yeah." Hidden by their joined stance, Jared slinks one hand down to Jensen's crotch. His fingers find the shape of Jensen's dick down his left inseam, stroking through denim. "I know there's a storeroom in the back. Wanna duck away so I can remind you what an awesome boyfriend I am?"

Jensen would be lying if he claims he isn't tempted. He's already responding to the subtle pressure of Jared's hand between his legs, blood starting to slow and reroute itself downstairs.

"How about if I be the awesome boyfriend and stop you from potentially embarrassing yourself in front of your friends?" The slope of Jared's eyebrow questions Jensen's logic. "You really want to chance one of these guys walking in on us?"

"Man, I have totally seen Mark having sex." Abandoning his sneak attack on Jensen's crotch, Jared takes a long pull of his new beer, a third of it gone when he sets it back on the bar. "Nothing I couldn't wash away with some mental bleach and strong whiskey."

Jensen glances over at Mark and shudders theatrically. "Call me old-fashioned—"

"Old fashioned."

"—but I prefer sex behind closed doors—"

"I'm sure there's a door, Jensen."

"—and without an audience!"

"Hey y'all!" Blake's voice roars over the rest and conversations are left unfinished as everyone turns to stare. "My man Silo's tryin' to say a few words."

Standing on a table in the corner of the room, DJ shouts back, "Thanks, Big Country!"

Jensen finds Cindy's eyes just as she mouths _Big Country?_ He shrugs and gives her a grin.

"Alright, I wanna thank everybody for coming out"—DJ pauses to let the hollers pass—"tonight! And I've gotta thank my Uncle Paul for letting this rowdy bunch into his bar. C'mon, y'all! Give him a hand." They do, and Jensen feels the air vibrate with the force of the applause. When he has everyone's attention, DJ continues. "We're all here celebrating a different kind of victory, but that doesn't make it less important. Finally being acknowledged for who we are, who we really are, by the country that asked us to lay our lives on the line every day…well, I don't think there's a bigger victory than that."

Applause swells for the second time. Jared's hand wanders down again, but this time he threads his fingers through Jensen's and holds tight.

"No more hiding.” DJ’s voice rises about the noise. "Although, to be honest, some of us weren't doing a real good job keepin’ our secrets!"

That brings laughter, and Jensen watches Jared shake his head in amusement.

"Now before I get down and let y'all get on with your night, I wanna raise my glass to the soldiers who aren't here tonight. Fallen friends who gave it all in service to this country, the way any of us would have been proud to do." DJ's speech drops off and before he can say anything else, Ben climbs up on the table with him. It wobbles but holds their weight. Ben wraps his arm around DJ's shoulder, nodding him on. "All of 'em are heroes, but they never got the chance to live this freely."

He toasts the fallen and silently, somberly, the crowd does the same. Jensen's eyes feel heavy and wet. He squeezes Jared's hand, trying to pass on solidarity, but the hand folded in his is unresponsive. Jensen looks over and sees Jared staring at DJ's feet, eyes glassy and wide.

"Jared?" The volume of the bar is beginning to return to pre-speech levels. "Doing okay?"

That vacant hazel gaze crosses from DJ's table to the bar stool Jensen's leaning against. Jensen wraps his arm around Jared's waist, hoping the contact will draw Jared out of his sudden stupor.

"Feeling sick?"

Jared shakes his head once. "No, I'm okay. You, um—you think we could get out of here?"

"You sure?" Jensen looks around; the party's in full swing. "I don't mind staying." And he doesn't, really. Jared's friends have become his friends, too, and they've all been having a good time.

Jared's eyes catch a flash from across the bar, illuminating the sudden sexual appetite in his gaze. "I know you don't mind," he whispers, seducing Jensen with the hint of lips on his skin, “but I’m feelin’ the need to _express_ my sexuality.”

The rest of Jensen's protests die on his tongue as he's whisked out of the bar, shouted goodbyes falling on deaf ears.

Jensen points his Acura towards the house without asking, fighting to keep from swerving as Jared's hands wander and tease.

"Neutral zone infraction!" Jensen laughs, batting Jared's hand away the next time it crosses the center console. "Five minute penalty, keep your hands to yourself."

Jensen barely has a chance to engage the deadbolt on his front door before Jared's got him pinned against it, the last note of a desperate whine muffled against Jensen's lips. Jared snaps his tongue behind Jensen's teeth, spreading a bitter aftertaste over his taste buds. Though the kiss is fierce, biting and robust, Jared spares no concentration for the rest of his body. His chest sags heavily against Jensen's, arms spaghetti-weak at his sides. As much as Jensen would like to kick this impromptu grinding session back into gear, there's definitely something off with his boyfriend.

Framing Jared's shoulders with his hands, Jensen eases them apart.

"Hmm, what?" Jensen counts off a few seconds before Jared's blurry haze catches up with his. "Y'okay?"

"Yeah, c'mon. Let's get in bed." Jared acknowledges with a series of mumbles trapped in humid breath. "I'm gonna assume that means, 'Okay, Jensen. Bed sounds great.'"

Jared’s head lolls to the right. "Your bed's better than mine."

"Damn right it is."

Jensen drops Jared off on the mattress before continuing into the bathroom to wash tonight off his face. He wets a washcloth and brings it into the bedroom, hoping to sober up his boyfriend, but drops it with a _plop_ on the hardwood floor when he sees Jared reclining against the pillows. Jared’s all but naked on the russet sheets, wearing only his navy blue boxer-briefs, tight fabric shaping those generous parts of him that Jensen would kill to get his mouth on, and his dog tags.

“Thought you were never comin’ back,” Jared drawls, teasing himself with molasses-slow fingers along his unscarred thigh. Jensen immediately perks up again. “Gonna join me?”

He pounces, lands hands-and-knees over Jared, and sweeps him up in another long kiss. Conflicting schedules and a mountain of work had prevented them from getting down and intimate during the week. As a result, Jensen’s ready for a slow stroll down pleasure street. With Jared, there’s so much to worship: miles and miles of skin to journey across. It’s no wonder Jensen enjoys taking his time. 

But in contrast to the way Jared held him studded against the front door fifteen minutes ago, Jared’s raring now. His arms seize Jensen around the middle, pulling and writhing and _not letting go_.

“Jay—” Jensen tears his mouth away. “Hey, wait.”

Waiting’s not in Jared’s playbook tonight. He’s passionately manic, surging back up to find Jensen’s lips. And if Jared wants to get off this badly, Jensen would be all kinds of accommodating, except…except Jared’s not reacting with anything besides desperation, and Jensen’s conscience won’t let him follow through.

Silently apologizing to his testicles, Jensen heaves himself off the bed.

“Hey!” Even over a single word, Jared’s slur is obvious. “I’m okay.” He tries to enunciate. “We can keep going.” His lashes flutter. _Fuck_ , Jensen wants him so damn bad.

“I’m sorry”—and God, is he ever—“but I totally forgot about this file I need to email.”

Jared pouts, utterly fuckable with pursed lips and soft strands of hair falling over his forehead, dog tags reflecting the dim light. “Right now?”

“Yeah, I gotta—well, it’s important and if I don’t get it out tonight…”

“Fine,” Jared groans, “but you’d better do it fast ‘r else I’ll have t’entertain myself.”

Jensen’s counting on that. Given how low Jared’s eyelids have drooped, he’ll be out cold in less than five minutes. Jensen wastes more than that pacing between the kitchen and his office, attempting to place the reason for Jared’s mood flip. He’d been so eager to see his friends, celebrate their new freedom. Jensen understands a certain degree of melancholy, especially after DJ’s heartfelt speech, but that doesn’t explain Jared’s emotional see-saw. Up one minute, down the next.

As expected, Jared’s asleep when Jensen reenters the bedroom, one of his arms reaching across Jensen’s side of the bed.

Jensen finds himself in the dark when he’s startled awake. Out of habit, he checks the clock. The neon green numbers are fuzzy; it’s just before three a.m. 

As Jensen’s eyes adjust and pull shapes out of the blackness, a full-out tremor rocks the bed. Beside him, Jared is shaking as if a live current is being passed through his body. Jensen is alert in seconds, reaching out to set his hand over Jared’s chest while repeating his name over and over.

Jared doesn’t fall out of his spell, nearly paralyzed as he battles a terror within the confines of his mind. His lips are pale, opened wide around silent screams. 

After two excruciatingly long minutes, Jensen feels Jared’s muscles go loose. He sinks into the mattress with a whimper, head tossing restlessly from side to side. Jensen lightly touches Jared’s forehead, his fingers slipping through a cold sweat. Whatever the nightmare was about, it has left Jared drained.

_What the hell?_

They’ve slept in the same bed dozens of times. Bumped knees, fought for cool space on the sheets, kicked everything onto the floor when their passion gets too rowdy for things like pillows and comforters, but Jensen’s never known Jared to have nightmares before.

He considers rousing Jared, but he hasn’t moved since going limp. Rest is more important than answers.

Jensen keeps his silent vigil next to Jared for as long as he can keep his eyes open, makes sure that big body is lying calm and still, and falls asleep in the space between relief and concern.

&&&&&

"How do you like your eggs?"

Jensen yawns and almost misses Jared’s question. "Cooked by someone else."

The left side of Jared's mouth curls up. He turns back to the stove and says, "Messy omelets it is."

There’s no trace of a nightmare in Jared’s expression. He looks well-rested and chipper unlike Jensen who fumbles for his first cup of coffee, grumbling when he can’t find the Keurig pod he wants in the drawer.

“It’s already in the machine,” Jared tells him, “and I added coffee to your grocery list.”

Jared must have showered before Jensen woke up, wet hair curling around his ears. He whisks, chops, and cooks while Jensen watches (he truly is next to useless without caffeine).

“Do you remember dreaming last night?” Jensen asks after breakfast. He’s loading the dishwasher while Jared sits at the counter sipping the last of his orange juice.

Jared shakes his head. “Nah, I never remember them unless they’re freaky-weird. Why? Was I muttering about aliens or the ballet?” Jared chuckles. “Maybe aliens performing ballet?”

“I don’t think so. Seemed more like a nightmare to me. You were shaking.”

“Did I hurt you?”

“No, nothing like that,” Jensen reassures. “I think you were trying to scream, but nothing was coming out. You don’t remember anything?”

Jared stares at the leftover pulp in his glass, unresponsive, and Jensen regrets bringing it up.

“Jay? Are you okay?”

“Fine, yeah.” Jared hurries to stand, carrying his glass to the sink. “It was probably nothing.”

“I’ve just never seen you react like that in your sleep. Was it the party? Maybe it brought back some memories—”

“Sure, okay,” Jared cuts him off. “That was probably it.” He spins and slouches back against the granite countertop. “Everyone has bad dreams sometimes.”

Jensen sees this conversation going off the rails. “I know, and I’m not trying to dig. I was worried. I stayed awake for a while just trying to make sure you were okay.”

Something predatory takes shapes in Jared’s eyes. He angles his body towards Jensen’s, giving him an eyeful of lean hips and broad shoulders wrapped in heather gray.

“I kept you up?” Jared purrs. “You should let me make up for that.”

“Sounds promising,” Jensen says as Jared closes in. 

They share a tangy-sweet kiss, much gentler than the night before. As distractions go, this is a good one. Soon the two of them are _in flagrante_ in the kitchen (and not for the first time). Jensen’s dishwater-pruned fingers quest beneath Jared’s nylon track pants, tickling his abs on the way down. And mmm, there’s Jared’s cock, warm and solid from their post-breakfast foreplay. Jensen wraps his fingers around it, swallowing every happy little mewl from Jared’s mouth.

“Like that?” Jensen asks, keeping his strokes light so they don’t chafe. Slow and comfortable, that’s what Jensen wants. That and a close-up of Jared’s face when he comes—one of Jensen’s secret, ultimate pleasures.

“God, Jen…” Jared moans. “Do whatever you want to me.”

Jensen’s touch is a tease, his first two fingers tracing invisible signs at the base of Jared’s cock. “Who says this isn’t what I want?”

Apparently his technique leaves Jared wanting. He slips Jensen’s hand out of his pants and does an about-face in the circle of Jensen’s arms. His ass grinds against Jensen’s hard-on—Jensen’s nose is filled with the clean smell of Jared’s shampoo.

“C’mon,” he says, “I know you want to fuck me.”

Jensen could laugh ( _duh, obvious_ ). If they’d already taken that step he’d be more than willing to blow Jared’s mind, but he knows Jared hasn’t bottomed in a long time. That, and a handful of brain cells not dedicated to getting off are telling Jensen that Jared’s demand is tied to his strange behavior.

Up on his toes, Jensen bites along Jared’s throat. “You’re right, I do,” he whispers, hand wandering around to Jared’s front, retaking the prize between his thighs. “And it’s gonna happen soon, Jay, I promise.”

“How soon?”

That earns Jared a light smack on his uninjured thigh. “Be patient,” Jensen says, stroking Jared in time with his exhales. His own cock isn’t benefitting from much friction, but Jensen sees the need for something more than his own gratification. Maintaining a rhythm, he keeps Jared pinned, painting vivid scenarios with his words. 

He pours them right into Jared’s ear. “It’ll be slow at first. So slow, you’re gonna beg me to get on with it.”

“Kinda like now?” Jared asks even as his cock slips through Jensen’s grip. 

“Remember that massage I gave you? It’s going to start like that,” Jensen vows, “only there won’t be any pain. I’ll work you so _deep_ , so thoroughly, that you’re gonna melt under my hands.”

“Got such talented hands…”

“You know that’s right. Your legs, your back, your shoulders, your ass,” Jensen growls, “there’s no part of you I don’t want to touch.” He feels incomparable satisfaction when Jared shivers. “How’s that sound?”

“Getting better,” Jared admits with a clipped tone. Jensen smirks against his shoulder. “Keep talking…”

“I’ll have you spread out on our bed, ‘cause I want to see all that beautiful skin.” It might be his imagination, but Jensen hears a muffled sob. “Touch you and taste you from top to bottom,” he adds, curling his tongue around Jared’s ear. “Kiss you every time I pass your lips, ‘cause I won’t be able to resist.” Jared arches his back and Jensen pushes forward into the concave space. “When I’ve got you completely relaxed, I’m gonna open you up. I know it’s been a long time, so I’ll make my fingers nice and slick, work ‘em into you slowly, probably suck your cock at the same time, ‘cause you know how much I love that—”

Jared knows it, too, shuddering in Jensen’s hold and coming all over his hand. Jensen kisses the back of his neck through the aftershocks, small pulses adding to the slippery mess.

“Well,” Jared pants, “that was _awesome_.” 

Jensen’s too content to do anything but mumble happily against the back of Jared’s t-shirt, body loose and a grin in place when Jared turns around and catches him in an embrace. Jared shifts until Jensen’s cock is rutting against the groove of his hips.

“What’s this?” he asks mischievously. “I guess it’s my turn to _elaborate_ on the things I’d like to do to you someday.”

“Do whatever you want to me.”

Hearing his own words used against him, Jared’s sated eyes sparkle.

“In that case…”

&&&&&

Jensen swears he’s not going to dwell on Jared’s nightmare, but he finds himself reading through various articles on Wikipedia while he’s supposed to be completing reviews for his team’s last project.

Using his incredibly erotic distraction techniques, Jared had prevented Jensen from brooding over his concerns, but in the harsh light of the work week, Jensen’s anxiety resurfaces. He keeps flashing back to the fear he’d felt, watching Jared shiver and quake, unable to snap him out of the nightmare.

“Can I ask you something?”

Cindy looks up from rearranging the avocado slices on top of her black bean hummus plate. “Personal or project-related?”

They’re camping out in the conference room where their meeting’s scheduled to take place in an hour; they’d grabbed lunch along with all their notes in order to finish some last minute prep-work.

“Personal.”

Cindy smiles. “Good, ‘cause I was getting bored.”

“How does Blake sleep?”

“Wow.” She sets aside her fork. “Personal—you weren’t kidding.”

“Sorry,” Jensen says, running his fingers down his tie over and over. “I meant, does he have trouble sleeping? You know, in general.”

Cindy’s ready to crack a joke, but whatever she sees in Jensen’s expression gives her pause. “He’s only slept over a few times,” she shyly admits, brown eyes melting. Jensen’s happy for her. “I don’t know. I’ve gotten up a couple of times and he’s been awake, grabbing something to eat or reading on his phone.”

“Did you ask him about it?”

“No, but I think bouts of insomnia are pretty common for soldiers who’ve been in combat. I know my dad had a tough time sleeping after his first tour.”

Curiosity piqued, Jensen asks, “Any particular reason?”

Cindy shakes her head, smile fond in memory. “He said it was hard adjusting to a normal bed again.” Jensen pictures the mattress in Jared’s apartment, wondering if his Spartan accommodations are deliberate. “That and the lack of base noise, having his own space, the _air_.” She sighs. “There were a lot of things, I guess. Are you asking because of Jared?”

He nods but declines to elaborate, which Cindy seems to accept. Jared wouldn’t appreciate being the subject of gossip, whereas Blake has a tendency to overshare.

Odds are good that Jared’s not the only one cursed with troubling dreams, but Jensen needs to determine whether they’re the exception or the rule. If he asks Jared directly, he’ll get blown off again, so Jensen decides that a bit of research is in order.

First, he offers to spend a few nights at Jared’s apartment. He’s never slept there—given a choice, Jared always redirects them to Jensen’s house—but he’s willing to give that floor-mattress a shot.

Jared’s not as keen on the idea.

“What?” Jared peers over the rim of his coffee cup. “Why would you want to do that?”

Jensen shrugs, staring forlornly down at his empty cup. He and Jared have stuck with their afternoon coffee dates at least three days per week. Visiting Jared in the middle of the day is like an influx of positive energy. Better than the caffeine, and that’s saying a lot. 

“I figured you’d be sick of staying at my place all the time.”

Jared pauses to nod at a pair of suited men leaving through the main doors. “What gave you that impression?”

“Just trying to be considerate.” _And I’m curious about your sleeping patterns_. “I don’t mind, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

Jared laughs. “Hey, I mind! My place is crap compared to yours. My bed is on the floor, my internet is slow, and I’m not allowed to have a grill.”

“I knew you were using me for my grill.”

Jared leans over the counter. “Don’t forget about your DVR.”

They have the lobby to themselves so Jensen has no trouble accepting the flutter of a kiss Jared teases him with, filling his reserves for the rest of the afternoon. He doesn’t let the subject drop though, and under light duress, Jared invites him to stay over on Wednesday night. Jensen brings dinner (and beer, and plates, and a fork since Jared only owns two and one’s missing) and they share Jared’s not-all-that-uncomfortable sofa while they eat and watch _Top Shot_.

At eleven, Jensen starts yawning.

“Tired?” Jared’s leaning back into the cushions, ankles crossed over Jensen’s lap. “Go to bed, I’ll put everything away.”

“You’re not coming?”

Jared hauls himself off the couch, movements isolated and stiff like an old clock in need of winding. Jensen watches his face to gauge the level of pain.

“I will, just gotta shut everything down.”

At Jensen’s house, they’ve developed a routine: Jensen locks up, puts his laptop back on his desk, makes sure the dishes in the sink get moved to the dishwasher (or at least rinsed if they’re too busy to be meticulous). Jared grabs two glasses of water, fluffs pillows, and checks that there’s an extra blanket at the end of the bed in case Jensen gets cold in the middle of the night. 

Here, Jensen hovers aimlessly for a moment. “Can I help?” he offers.

“Nah.” Jared hip-checks him towards the bedroom. “I’ve got it. I’ll move quicker knowing you’re waiting for me, all naked and willing.”

Jensen smirks. “I have an early morning, remember?”

“Right. Just naked then?”

“Wait and see.”

Jensen is shirtless (but not naked) when Jared climbs into bed. Jared’s mouth feigns disappointment yet his eyes are golden and sincere. The bedroom features one nightstand on Jared’s side, topped with two glasses of water, a clock, and a book. The austere surroundings don’t fit him at all—a product of his circumstances. 

They trade mint-fresh kisses, a habit that sticks no matter where they’re spending the night, until Jensen’s yawns throw a wrench in the works and they gradually shift from each other. For once, Jensen fights to keep from drifting off, cataloging every breath Jared takes, hyper-conscious of his restless legs.

An indeterminate amount of time later, Jensen turns onto his side and sees Jared looking at him. He’s gleaned nothing other than the fact that neither of them were tired enough to sleep.

“Something wrong?” Jared asks, eyes drowsy like he’s been tightrope-walking on the edge of dreaming.

“Can’t seem to stop thinking tonight,” Jensen mumbles, curling a little closer to Jared’s chest. His fingers float across the warm skin under Jared’s tank. “What about you? Can’t sleep?”

Jared mutters something untranslatable, rolling into the S-shape of Jensen’s body, eager to cuddle. Jensen holds him as he listens and feels for Jared’s breathing to deepen, but Jared never crosses into sleep. He must sense that Jensen’s awake, too.

“Wanna have sex?”

Jensen huffs, lips tickling Jared’s ear. _We are both awake_ …

Needless to say, his research is compromised that night.

&&&&&

Jensen doesn’t give up.

Jared stays at Jensen’s house three or four nights a week, and Jensen is surprisingly comfortable with the arrangement. He’s depended on routines since his four years at the Citadel, where every moment of a cadet’s day was plotted on a piece of paper. He’d come to appreciate the order, the way it minimized chaos and stress. It helps that Jared, after nearly a decade in the Army, is used to schedules. He’s adopted a more lax approach since his injury, but being with someone like Jensen hardly seems to upset him. Not all of Jensen’s very-temporary ex-boyfriends had felt the same way.

Jensen’s study of Jared’s sleeping habits produces mixed results. As much as he tries, Jensen can’t help falling asleep half the time. But when he manages to stay awake longer, it’s evident that Jared’s restlessness is a recurring condition. 

Spying through his eyelashes, Jensen catches Jared reading, playing games on his cell phone, or staring into space. A few times, when Jensen happens to wake up on his own before dawn, he sees Jared watching him with a soft gaze.

If Jared’s curious about Jensen’s behavior, he never says anything. He simply shrinks the amount of empty space between them and lies silently until the alarm goes off.

Unfortunately, it also becomes obvious that Jared’s nightmare wasn’t a freak occurrence.

Overly eager after a cocktail party for one of Jensen’s clients where suits and ties were required, Jared and Jensen go a few rounds between the sheets. Jared had groped Jensen the entire way home, fingers unable to find purchase on the fluid, expensive fabric of Jensen’s suit, and when they get home, it’s all craving, no holds barred. They pass out, naked and tangled together, until Jensen gets trapped in the wake of one of Jared’s nightmares.

The next time it happens, Jared comes home in pain, thanks to a change in the weather and a rough workout session with some of his VA buddies. He conks out in Jensen’s bed before the eleven o’clock news and rouses Jensen with his thrashing just before 2 a.m.

The nightmares prey on Jared when he drinks too much, pushes too hard, or fucks too enthusiastically. The rest of the time, it’s possible that Jared’s _trying_ to stay awake, choosing the lesser of two evils between nightmares and insomnia.

And that’s not much of a choice.

&&&&&

“Dude, I was wide open!” Lincoln shouts after Jensen slots a neat pass over to Caitlin. “C’mon!”

“Blake is riding your ass, man,” Jared calls out, getting the ball from Caitlin and dribbling around Mark for a layup, neatly tossing the ball to Jimmy at the last second when DJ gets too close. Wide open, Jimmy sinks the ball cleanly.

Caitlin claps. “Six-two! Somebody call the gravediggers, because we’re gonna bury you guys today.”

Ben groans, leaning on DJ’s shoulder. “Your trash talk needs so much work, Cait.”

“Kinda like your game?”

The group laughs at Ben’s expense, but he shrugs it off with a grin. Jared and Jensen’s team had won the first game handily as Jimmy put on a freaking clinic. It’s no wonder he’d been accepted onto Dallas’ traveling wheelchair basketball team (an accomplishment they’d paraded out to celebrate on Thursday night after Jimmy posted the news).

Jamie inbounds the ball to DJ who dribbles for the full five seconds before passing it off to Blake. Thanks to Lincoln’s interference, the ball is tipped off Blake’s fingers, bouncing towards the bleachers. Jared sidles up beside Jensen while Lincoln chases it down.

“I hope you didn’t make plans after the game.”

“Hmm?” Jensen turns. For months, his Saturday afternoon plans start and end with Jared. “No, why?”

Jared’s thumb teases beads of sweat off Jensen’s temple. “I need to book one of your massages later.”

Jensen turns a clinical eye on Jared’s stance. “Are you sore?”

On the other side of the court, Lincoln lobs a high pass to Caitlin. She looks for an opening, but Jared’s still pressed against Jensen’s shoulder.

“No,” Jared whispers, words meant only for Jensen, “but I could be tomorrow.” He punctuates his statement with a hidden caress of Jensen’s ass, fingers flirting below the elastic of his shorts before the touch evaporates.

Jimmy maneuvers around Jamie and catches Caitlin’s pass. He throws it to Jensen, but the ball _whiffs_ right past. Jared winks and grabs the ball while Jimmy curses, leaving Jensen gaping on the hardwood.

_Son of a bitch._

With his brain reduced to goo, Jensen’s team loses the game by five points. He gladly takes the blame.

In the locker room, Jimmy wheels around on Jared. “What the hell did you do to Jensen? He couldn’t handle a single pass!” He glances between Jensen’s flushed face and Jared’s too-innocent-to-be-convincing expression. “On second thought,” Jimmy says, “I really don’t want to know.”

The drive home is uncomfortable in all the right ways, miles of erotic tension to suffer between the rec center and Jensen’s house. Every dirty promise Jensen has ever made forms a word cloud in his mind, some bigger and brighter than the others: _massage, beautiful, slow, slick_. He shivers; Jared notices and smirks, trailing his fingers down the inseam of his pants.

It’s pure torture.

At the house, Jensen wants to make sure they’re on the same page, but one look at Jared is enough to confirm that he wants this. Jensen only wishes he had more time to plan and make this perfect.

“I guess we need—”

“Jensen.”

He’s spun around, silenced by Jared’s lips. That one drawn-out, soul-wheeling kiss wipes away his doubts.

“You promised me a bed…”

Jensen considers pulling the shades, lighting candles for atmosphere and romance, and quickly slipping into sexier underwear, but decides against the gimmicks. Except the underwear, of course; he seizes a pair of silky green boxers from his dresser on his way into the bathroom for massage oil. There’s no way Jared won’t appreciate a little bit of vanity on his part.

Jared’s waiting on the bed, calmly looking back at Jensen with his chin propped on his folded hands. 

“Damn,” Jensen exhales, chest aching. The sight leaves him hard and dripping like a palm tree in the rain.

“You’d better get over here before I change my mind.”

Jensen kneels beside Jared’s shoulder. “Would you?”

“Mmm, nope. I’m looking forward to this too much.”

Jensen has fantasized about possessing Jared this way for months. He’s quenched his lusts in a dozen different ways, but this is the kind of sex that goes beyond getting off—a test of how well you know your partner. Jensen has gone out to meet a guy, had sex, and gone home satisfied, but that feeling is one star in the galaxy of sensations achievable with a man he can truly be intimate with. Jared is the man with whom he wants to sail through the stars.

“Jen?” Jared props himself up, nervously bitten lips full and flushed. “Feeling a little neglected here.”

Jensen has to kiss him, test the softness of his mouth. Map out the places he wants to revisit with his tongue over and over this afternoon.

“Just deciding where to begin,” he says. Jared makes the decision easier, rolling his long body out like a wave over the bedspread, a wash of freshly-showered skin to arouse Jensen’s appetite.

Last time he’d given Jared a massage, Jensen focused on Jared’s lower back and thighs, went straight to the source to relieve his aches. There’s no pain this time; Jensen has _carte blanche_ to touch Jared however he wants. He begins by dripping eucalyptus oil all over Jared’s shoulders.

“Smells good.”

“It’s my favorite.” Jensen glides his fingers through the oil, streaking Jared’s skin, settling into the mood.

“Been giving a lot of massages?”

Jensen rakes his clean hand across Jared’s scalp. “Only to myself.”

Jared purrs, satisfied, and Jensen vows to drag out more sounds just like that one. Kneeling next to Jared, he begins by circling his shoulder blades with a light touch, gathering oil and smoothing it down Jared’s back. Then he makes long, sweeping strokes up from Jared’s last lumbar vertebra, tempering his initial pressure—obviously, he doesn’t want to render Jared useless. Jensen wants him _primed_ , not reduced to putty. He kneads Jared’s shoulders with closed fists, eases the strain he carries atop his trapezius muscles, teases warmed fingers up around Jared’s neck, possessively tightening his grip in a moment of white-hot lust.

Jared moans as if he’s picking up on Jensen’s thoughts. He’s welcome to them.

“You’re killing me.”

“In a good way?”

“The best way,” Jared says, flexing his upper body. He stretches and brings one hand around to touch Jensen’s knee—a gesture to reassure Jensen that he’s comfortable. “Gonna keep going?”

“I’m just getting started.”

Jensen gauges the strength in Jared’s arms, traces the origin of his biceps and triceps, and tickles under his elbows. He tells his cock to be patient as his hands move lower along Jared’s spine, past his ribs to the sensitive skin around his hips. A stiff touch on the right side, getting deep into Jared’s muscles, but tender on the left, curling his fingers over the web of Jared’s scars. Jared grips Jensen’s knee and relaxes.

It’s always electric when he touches Jared’s scars, which can be good or bad depending on his mood. Today Jared allows it, letting Jensen explore the parts of him that he hides from everyone else in the world. Jensen coaxes the strain out of Jared’s legs with his well-trained hands, soothes his lower back, focusing on the muscles that bear the brunt of Jared’s injury, forced to compensate for damaged nerves and tissue. All this with a touch that’s never clinical—Jensen’s close, leaning down and sharing body heat, breath caressing the traumatized skin. He touches Jared with all the affection he can will into his fingers.

By now he’s worked most of the oil into Jared’s skin, leaving it soft and supple. He straddles Jared’s legs and arches over his back. Golden afternoon sun slants across their bodies and paints them for one another. Jensen kisses the back of Jared’s neck, bites at the soft hair, but tastes something bitter and metallic when his tongue slides over the ball chain to Jared’s dog tags. 

Jensen suddenly needs to see Jared’s face. He taps Jared’s hip, encourages him to roll over, but remains atop him, gazing down into a feverishly pleasured expression.

“Do you know how hard it was not to come when you bit my neck?” Jared asks, planting his hands on Jensen’s hips. “I mean, _holy shit_ , Jen. You’re kind of a sex god.”

Jensen grins at the breathless feedback. From under the pillows, Jared retrieves their preferred lube along with a strip of condoms. Taking the bottle in hand, Jensen indulges over Jared’s cock. It’s beautiful (and proportionate; Jensen’s worked himself giddy over it many times) with a wide flare in the middle that tapers up to a mouth-wateringly dusky head. Feather-light strokes down his thickness meant to titillate, not torment. Pushing sweat through his softly matted pubic hair, the musky scent appealing to the primal center in Jensen’s brain.

“Can you prop your leg up?”

Jared drags his left ankle along the bedspread, folding his leg up as much as he’s comfortable. “As pretty as those boxers are on you,” he says, “I need to insist on their removal.”

Jensen lacks the patience to make a show of stripping out of his olive-green underwear, carefully stretching them over his dick and yanking them past his knees, kicking them off the bed with his foot.

“Better?”

“It’s always better when you’re naked.” As Jared compliments his nudity (which never gets old), he wraps his right leg around the back of Jensen’s thigh, reeling him in. “You’d better not be through with me yet.”

 _Never_. Jensen’s unable to say it out loud. No sense ruining perfectly good sex with hormone-driven romanticisms. He presses forward into the cradle of Jared’s thighs, licking across his lips. Jared’s mouth opens around a welcoming sound, and Jensen’s tongue curls behind his teeth, taking broad, fucking strokes as far back as he can reach.

Jensen probably uses too much lube. Scratch that—he definitely overdoes it, but hurting Jared is not an option. Good to his word, he stretches Jared slowly, scissoring one, two, and finally three fingers inside him. He uses his thumb to press and pull around the outside of Jared’s hole, a technique Jensen picked up (from many pleasurable experiences) that might subtract from the discomfort Jared’s probably feeling.

By the time Jensen’s smoothly working three fingers in and out, Jared is thrashing on the bed, cursing Jensen’s vow to take things slowly.

“Oh God,” he moans, “you’ve gotta fuck me, Jen…”

Jensen taunts him, enjoying the vise-grip around his fingers. “Yeah? Think you’re ready?” 

“Fuck— _yes_ , c’mon…”

Jensen’s previous bed-partners hadn’t needed much more than a condom and his dick; he’d forgotten the effect intimately preparing his partner could have on his arousal. He’s raring now, surrounded by Jared and _how the fuck have they not been doing this for months?_ It’s hotter than a strip tease as Jared helps him put on the condom and add more lube. Words are lost; they ignite one another with a look, a slippery touch along the inside of a thigh, a biting kiss.

He leaves their position up to Jared, who chooses to remain on his back; Jensen’s accustomed to fucking guys from behind—on all fours, against walls or doors—but right now he doesn’t want to miss a single flicker of enjoyment lighting up Jared’s face; wouldn’t trade a second of fucking Jared for anything or anyone else.

When he slides in, it’s perfect. Too perfect to waste precious seconds coming up with five-dollar words he can use to describe it. _So goddamn good_. Ever-conscious of the angle of Jared’s left leg, Jensen begins to thrust when he can’t stand the constricting pressure anymore. 

Skin slaps together like a primitive drum, grunts and gasps echoing all around the room. Jensen wishes he could cool his engine a bit, extend the moment, but his body’s overridden his mind, thrusting with abandon. Unbridled, his knees falter, dropping him lower on the bed, and Jared _loses_ it. The wail that leaves his lips is wild; it shoots right into Jensen’s bloodstream.

So _that’s_ what ecstasy sounds like.

Jensen holds his new position as best he can, muscles quaking, and deliberately grinds forward.

“Fuck—oh, oh, oh…fuck, Jen!” Jared cries, breaths coming fast and shallow. Jensen readjusts to make his thrusts deeper, prolonging the slide of his cock over Jared’s prostate.

“Getting’ good?” Jensen drawls, licking salt from the corners of his mouth.

Jared’s able to focus on Jensen for a few seconds. “Should’ve done this a lot sooner.”

“Got a lot of time to make up for,” Jensen says, and he means it. He’s bent on learning how to completely unravel Jared, starting with the smallest touch. But there are a few parts of Jared’s body with which Jensen is already intimately familiar, like his cock, flushed with blood and standing at attention. Jensen sacrifices his rhythm to wrap his right hand around it, fumbles for the best grip and then strokes him in cadence with his hips.

Jared turns frantic, scrabbling at Jensen’s back, holding him off and welcoming him forward at the same time, unable to decide if he wants to submit to his orgasm or stave it off a little longer. By now, Jared’s hole is slick and accepting, exquisitely hugging his cock, and Jensen corkscrews into him, using the texture of the condom to his full advantage. Close to coming, Jared tugs Jensen down with fingers in his hair, licking into Jensen’s mouth. Impossibly deep in Jared’s body, Jensen coaxes him over the edge with a burst of short, sharp thrusts across his prostate, stripping his cock until his semen spills warm between them.

Instinct forces Jensen out of Jared as soon as his muscles relax. He tears off the condom and fists his cock hard. His grip is nothing compared to the clutch of Jared’s hold around him, but Jensen’s too far gone to care, adding his come to the small ocean on Jared’s stomach.

&&&&&

“Best massage ever,” Jared proclaims after a mile-wide yawn. “Did they teach a class on that?”

Though Jensen could barely convince his legs to function, he’d pulled Jared into the bathroom and gently wiped his stomach clean. After their post-sex ablutions, Jared surprised Jensen by pulling him back into bed, where they’re lying comfortably now.

Jensen laughs, the rumble in his chest passing straight through to Jared’s beneath him. “None of my classes ever covered the ‘happy ending.’”

“Too bad, you would’ve aced it.”

“So I passed?”

“Maybe,” Jared teases, leaning down to lay small pecks across Jensen’s forehead. “But I think you require further evaluation.”

Jensen sidles closer along Jared’s right side, his lips touching Jared’s sternum. Content, Jensen could rest here for hours, or until their bodies’ demands become hard to ignore. The sunlight’s acquired a reddish glow as it slowly begins to set, cutting through the shades and setting their skin aflame.

That’s when Jensen sees the marks. So faint they’re nearly invisible: half a dozen needle-thin white lines, no longer than a quarter of an inch, scattered around Jared’s chest. There’s one as high as his collarbone, one below the curve of his left pectoral. Without the sunlight hitting Jared’s skin at this angle, Jensen might never have seen them.

“What are these?”

Jared looks down, mouth flat. “Scars,” he says, “from my first tour.”

Jensen hasn’t pressed for information on Jared’s combat tours overseas, but when he does share information, it’s usually about his third and final tour. Silent, he wills Jared to continue.

After a moment of thought, Jared does. “It happened my second week of deployment. We were all pretty green back then—we were prepared, but we thought we were indestructible, you know?” He sighs fondly. “Anyway, we were on patrol when we were ordered back to a site where the bomb guys were diffusing some IEDs. We were there to transport the neutralized devices back to base, but while they were loading one into the truck, it went off.”

Jensen tenses.

“No, it’s okay,” Jared assures him, though Jensen can’t see how. “The team had taken care of the explosive, but there was still a live charge. When it went off, it sent shrapnel flying everywhere. Most of it couldn’t penetrate our gear, but I was the closest and a few pieces of metal got through and embedded themselves in my chest. Back at base, most of the guys laughed it off.”

Something clicks. “That’s where you got your nickname,” Jensen says. “Iron Man. Shrapnel around your heart.”

“I’m nowhere near as cool as Tony Stark.”

“No one is,” Jensen teases.

“But yeah, the name stuck. And you know how the guys are…once they know your nickname, they never let it drop.”

The words are on Jensen’s lips to thank Jared for sharing a small piece of his combat history, revealing one of the cards he keeps so close to his chest (literally, in this case), but he holds them back—doesn’t want Jared to feel awkward about telling stories. Instead he shifts his head back onto the pillows, kisses along Jared’s jawline until Jared turns towards him.

“Round two?” Jensen asks, winking.

“Nap first,” Jared says, green eyes soft and luminous. “Then food, and then rounds two, three, and four.”

Jensen feels a flutter in his stomach. “Ambitious.”

“Like you said, we’re just getting started…”

 

**PART FOUR.**

_Jared has grown accustomed to waking up alone. Well, as alone as he can be in their base hospital, his cot being one among dozens laid out in a checkerboard pattern of white and red._

_The first time he woke up here, it was to paralyzing fear. He’d been tormented with twisted, rapid-fire dreams of the bombing, unable to open his eyes and escape the searing pain, and when he finally came to, the wires in his brain were crossed and useless. He couldn’t feel. In his nightmares, his legs were blown clear off. He’d tried to find them, leaving crisscrossed lines of blood as he dragged his body across the sand, and when he woke up, he’d looked down and seen two stumps under a pristine white sheet._

_Turns out that was a nightmare, too._

_He knows doctors and medics have been by to see him. Bandages are changed, IVs swapped out. Someone’s giving him the good stuff, though it’s never enough to blunt the pain. But no one’s talked to him besides the combat nurse who fortunately is gruff enough not to comment on Jared’s embarrassment at being tended to like an infant._

_But today, someone’s there when he opens his eyes._

_“Sergeant.”_

_Jared nods. Something settles in his blood when the company’s ‘first shirt’ uses his rank. “Sir.”_

_First Sergeant Matt Wiltse pulls a battered metal stool alongside the cot and takes a seat. Jared’s attempt to sit up is halted by his C.O.’s hand on his shoulder. “Stay put, Sergeant. How’re you feeling?”_

_Nothing he says would come close to the truth, so he offers something generic. “Might be a bit before I can get back out there, sir.”_

_Wiltse looks down at Jared’s leg. Under the sheet, it looks thicker from the layers of bandages. “Just a bit, Padalecki,” he says gruffly. “In the meantime, you’re on the next flight to Germany where you’ll await a C-17 flight back to the states.”_

_“Sir?” Jared can feel his blood pressure spike. “I can heal up here. I’ve still got my leg! My tour’s not up—”_

_“It is, Sergeant.” Wiltse gives him no fuss, no platitudes. “I’ve got your orders, you’re going home.”_

_There’s nowhere for the news to sink in. Jared’s head is already filled to capacity. Stunned, he stares down at the sheets, at the leg he can’t move without a white-hot strike of pain. He’s got his orders; there’s nothing to question._

_Still, he wants to scream._

_Later._

_Wiltse hasn’t moved, his presence silent. Supportive if Jared needs it. Right now, he only needs one thing._

_“Sir?” Jared takes the emotion out of his voice. “No one told me what happened to the rest of the convoy.”_

_His C.O. maintains eye contact, but Jared can tell he’s struggling to remain detached. Most of the enlisted personnel on the convoy were under Wiltse’s command. “Eleven casualties,” he says, “and five caskets.”_

_“Shubert?”_

_Wiltse shakes his head. “You’re not the only one going home, Iron Man.”_

_Jared’s stomach cramps, rebels. Must be the pain-meds, he thinks._

_“I’ll swing back through to see you tomorrow,” Wiltse says. From behind the stool, he drags out a faded canvas bag. “Pulled together a few books from the barracks. Can’t vouch for the content though.”_

_Neither of them speak for a moment, the awful sounds of the field hospital filling the void: dull, pained moans, low, monotone voices that carry bad news, helpless cries. Wiltse stands, and Jared barely remembers to acknowledge his superior officer’s departure._

_“You take care, Sergeant,” Wiltse says as he leaves. “We’ll have you home in no time.”_

_Home. Jared spends the rest of his afternoon trying to remember what **home** is._

&&&&&

“Good, you’re not busy.”

Cindy drops into one of Jensen’s chairs and picks up the cube-bot on his desk. The silly wooden toy had been a gift from Jared on their four-month anniversary; Jensen had treated Jared to an enthusiastic rimming. Afterward, Jared declared he’d gotten the better end of the deal.

Jensen looks up from his computer and scowls. 

“I had my door closed.”

“Really?” Cindy arranges the bot’s pieces until it’s performing a split. “Anyway—you and Jared are coming tomorrow night, right?”

Jensen sighs. He’s explained this twice. “Jared’s down in San Antonio until Saturday.”

It’s a second before she puts it together. “Meeting his sister’s fiancé, right. Okay, but you’re coming?”

“Yeah, do you need me to pick up anything?”

“That’s what I wanted to ask…”

Cindy needs beer. Lots of it. She’s low on time and Blake had never restocked her fridge. After work, Jensen picks up three cases of generic longnecks and one case of his favorite microbrew and drops it off using the code to Cindy’s garage while she’s out.

At home, Jensen sits down to an uninspired dinner of canned green beans and some leftover pizza. Without Jared, he can’t muster the energy for anything more substantial. In the last four months, he’s come to realize that cooking for two is easier. Sitting alone in front of the television, Jensen stabs at his limp beans, a little pissed that Jared’s not here. Or, that he’s not with Jared.

The news of Jared’s sister’s engagement was unexpected. For Jensen especially, because he had no idea Jared _had_ a sister. Shock led to anger when Jared told him, but anger gradually transitioned into frustration. They’d been doing really well. Jared had practically moved into Jensen’s house (a status Jensen thought about making permanent) and their happiness was punctuated by straight-to-the-good-stuff sex and learning all they could about one another.

Except for major things like, oh, _siblings_.

But Jensen got over it, and he offered to take time off in order to drive to San Antonio to meet Jared’s family.

Jared turned him down.

The explanation he gave was flustered, and Jensen can’t really remember the specifics through the red fog obscuring the memory. To the point, Jared didn’t want Jensen to meet his family. Not in a bad way, he’d insisted. Far from being ashamed of Jensen, he said he didn’t want to drag Jensen into the theatrics.

“You’ve never said anything bad about your family,” Jensen had said.

“It’s not that they’re bad,” Jared had mused, head in his hands. “They’re just kinda intense about my situation.” Jensen waited, no idea what would come out of his mouth if he started asking questions. “They smothered me in the hospital for way too long, tried to get me to move in with them when I was released. Whenever I see them, which isn’t a lot,” he’d clarified, “they’ll try to convince me to move back, or closer, or whatever.” 

Slumped on the couch, he’d looked defeated. “I just don’t want to put you in the middle of that, okay?”

Donning a casual front, Jensen had crossed his arms as he leaned against the wall. “So you don’t want me to go.”

“I _want_ one of us to survive the weekend with our sanity intact,” Jared had replied. “So yeah, I think I’d rather go alone.”

Jared had left this morning; the house feels different without him. Being left behind stings but, in a small way, Jensen understands his reasons. Though Jared probably didn’t realize it, he’d given Jensen insight to the time following his return from Afghanistan. Jared possessed a stubborn streak as wide as the Texas plains—obviously being forced into a living situation wouldn’t go over well. That, along with his distaste for _smothering_ , makes Jensen question his decision to ask Jared to move in. The last thing he wants to do is set Jared off.

But Jensen has come to detest being alone, rolling through his house like a pinball with nothing to bounce off. He’s agitated already, taking it out on his pitiful dinner and mashing the green beans to the point they’re inedible.

&&&&&

“Baby, my eyes hurt.” Blake groans and curls over Cindy’s lap while she pets her fingers through his wavy hair. “And my head, and my teeth, and my gut…”

Cindy makes a sour face at Jensen over Blake’s shoulder. Except for Jimmy, the rest of the basketball crew is scattered in the bleachers complaining about their hangovers. Jimmy joined a 3-on-3 pick-up game at the other end of the gymnasium when their crew threw in the towel after one brutally pathetic game.

“Whose brilliant idea was this, anyway?” Ben mutters, head between his knees.

Rubbing her temples, Caitlin nods towards DJ. “Your boyfriend’s.”

“No way, he was drunker than I was.”

“Dude,” Mark chimes in, “you were both wearing hula skirts by the end of the night.”

Ben shakes his head, complexion tinged green. “DJ was so drunk, he passed out in the middle of giving me he—”

“Okay, no!” Jamie shouts and everyone winces. “No, no, no.”

They’d celebrated Blake’s birthday the night before in excessive fashion. Cindy’s house was overrun with Blake’s friends, Jensen, and a few choice social selections from the office. Jensen had been melancholy at first, but he’d quickly filled that hole with bottles of microbrew and had a good time, although his memory’s a little hazy. 

He’s not sure who insisted they all stick to their regularly scheduled game (though he’s got a feeling it was Jimmy, who’ll use any excuse to come by the VA and see his favorite nurse), but it was a _terrible_ idea. His arms feel like spaghetti and his insides are working backwards. But the worst part was sleeping without Jared. Drunk or sober, he sleeps better when his boyfriend’s around. There was no one to share coffee with; no one to sneak into the shower with him and rub over his hipbones.

“How about we call it a day?” Lincoln polls the group and no one argues. Jimmy waves as they’re leaving.

They congregate at the IHOP down the street, squeezing into two booths and demanding coffee before their server opens his mouth. Everyone’s spirits are higher after pancakes, French toast, or, in Jensen’s case, the biggest omelet they make. 

Jensen had left his car across from Cindy’s house last night, so Cindy and Blake give him a ride back. Blake starts acting more like a human as his complexion regains color. They pull up next to Jensen’s car, but Blake holds Jensen back before he can get out of the truck.

“Hey, man,” he says, pitching his voice low even after Cindy hops out. “Maybe it’s none of my business, but Cindy told me you were asking about Jared’s sleeping problems.”

Jensen doesn’t remember using the word ‘problems,’ but he nods. “He has some trouble, yeah.”

“I won’t lie and say I sleep all that great either,” Blake admits. “No matter how tough your service is, you always come back a little different.”

This is a conversation he’d rather have with Jared, but Jensen’s starving for information, no longer able to survive on scraps. Blake was _there_ —Jensen knows that much—and he needs that insight.

“Jared refuses to tell me anything about his time in Afghanistan, but he talks about his tours in Iraq every now and then.”

“Been long enough since my first tour that I can bury the memories I don’t want while keeping the good ones out for show n’ tell.” That fits with the stories Jared likes to share. “The last one was harder. We were better at what we were doing, but the shine had worn off.” Blake sighs. “So Jared’s visiting his family?”

“Yeah,” Jensen says. “He wasn’t happy about it.”

Blake nods. “I saw my parents when I came home, but I moved to Texas right after.”

“Did the Army move you?”

“Nah, I’d always wanted to live in Texas. Mark and Jared were already here, so I figured they’d let me in, too.”

Jensen smiles, glad the three men have one another. “Do you see your family much?”

“Not as much as they’d like, but my Dad was in the Army so he understands why I needed a little bit of distance. I don’t think there’s anyone like that in Jared’s family, so it’s probably tougher for him. Family’s gonna want to help, but it’s hard for them to understand what we’ve gone through. We know they love us, but knowing that doesn’t feel as _right_ as it used to. It feels more like pressure.”

“Pressure to become a civilian again?” Jensen asks, watching Blake’s expression flatten out.

“To be the person they remember from before you shipped off.”

Jensen carries those words with him throughout the rest of the afternoon while he lazes about in front of ESPN. His mom calls during their coverage of college baseball to tell him all about his dad’s new iPad. She then insists on trying a video chat. When that technological obstacle course is over, there’s a soccer game on television. Jensen settles in with a glass of sweet tea (Jared’s) and crackers, feeling the effects of drinking an entire brewery the night before.

The match has just gone into stoppage time when Jared walks in.

“I thought you were coming back tomorrow,” Jensen says, watching Jared throw the contents of his duffel in the laundry basket. They’d already shared a long, slow kiss, after which Jared licked his lips and whispered, “Have you been drinking my tea?”

“I didn’t see the point of another dinner,” Jared says. “I met the guy, he’s cool. I’m sure my brother can handle the intimidation just fine.”

“Did you have a good time?” Communication had been slow. Jensen figured Jared was too busy to call and the texts he’d received had little or nothing to do with Jared’s trip home.

Jared drops a kiss on Jensen’s temple on his way by. “I would’ve rather stayed here with you.”

“Tell me about Annie’s fiancé.” Jensen follows Jared into the kitchen.

“He’s some kind of lawyer, so he’s kind of a dick.” Jared reaches into the fridge for a beer and pops the top. Jensen’s stomach curdles. “I guess he’s okay. He bought dinner both nights.”

“Flashin’ the cash, huh?”

Jared shrugs.

“Well, since you’re home, you can join my couch party.”

“Actually, I was thinking we could go out,” Jared suggests. “Grab dinner out on the patio at Keegan’s. Maybe go to Torch later.”

“Wait…” Jensen’s hungover brain is sluggish. “You want to go _clubbing_? I cannot go clubbing, Jay.”

“Why not?”

Jensen looks down at his too-long flannel pants (which are Jared’s, he now realizes) and worn t-shirt. “Because I’m exhausted, man. You missed a helluva party last night.”

“Blake went wild on his birthday, huh?”

Jensen nods. “Seriously, trying to play basketball this morning was painful.”

“You actually played?” Jared laughs. “All of you?”

“At one point, Blake sat down on the court and forced us to play around him.”

Jensen moves towards the couch while filling Jared in on the insanity he’d missed, tacking one story on the end of another hoping Jared will give up on his idea. Another night out would probably render Jensen’s brain completely dysfunctional. But after wrapping up his tale of Ben and DJ’s Hawaiian cross-dressing antics, Jared brings it up again.

“So, are you gonna get dressed?”

“Nope,” Jensen says, all but swallowed up by the couch cushions. 

“Please?”

“If I have any more alcohol, I’m going to die. Why do you want to go out?”

“I don’t know.” Jensen can feel Jared’s right leg bouncing against his thigh. “Every time I went to order a beer this weekend, my parents just shot me this _look_ , you know? I couldn’t let loose. Hell, I could barely relax with my mom constantly hovering, wanting to talk.”

Jensen studies Jared’s profile, his pinched mouth and flared nostrils. “Are things okay?”

“Fine, but I never wanted to go in the first place. My parents just don’t understand the life I want to have.”

 _They want a life that’s no longer possible_. Jensen flashes back to his truck-talk with Blake. Clearly Jared’s not alone with his post-combat family issues.

“I get it,” Jensen says.

“Do you?” Jared doesn’t sound convinced. “I just need my space.”

“So your solution is to go to a crowded club?”

Jared frowns and pushes up off the couch, starting to pace in front of the television. Jensen stands and snags Jared around the waist. “Hey, I know a few ways we can work off all this excess energy right here.”

That certainly gets Jared’s attention. His gaze bores into Jensen’s, restlessness burning away. “I thought you said you were tired.”

Jensen smirks and leads his boyfriend into the bedroom. “Who says I’ll be doing the work?”

Talk about a win-win situation. Jensen’s able to enjoy an afternoon in bed while Jared devotes his energy surplus to liquefy what’s left of Jensen’s brain. Jared spreads him out on the bed and unwraps him piece by piece, tongue traversing across his collarbones, snaking down his sternum.

Jensen revels in the affection, soaks up every touch and laughs when Jared nips low across his ribs. This feels so much better than the anxiety, the perfect balm for his ailments. Jared surges and takes his mouth, undulating against him and winding him up for more.

And then Jared breathlessly asks, “Can I rim you?”

Jensen must be asleep. This is a vivid dream brought on by too much alcohol and a mental pit of unfulfilled fantasies.

“Jen.” Jared taps the outside of his thigh. “If you need to think about it…”

“No,” he gasps. Jared’s eyebrow peaks. “I mean, I don’t need to think. Yes…hell yes, you can.”

Jared kisses him and mounts a thorough exploration of his mouth. Jensen rises into it, loops his arms around Jared’s broad back and holds him close, all that wonderful pressure on his chest. Too often, Jared’s the one on his back, owing to his injury, but Jensen loves the feeling of being pinned. Jared conquers and plunders with his tongue, a preview of his oral skills.

Jared scoots down the bed, his beautiful eyes hooded, and strokes his hands gently down Jensen’s legs. Without a word, he folds Jensen’s ankles against the back of his thighs, opening his body. Jared takes his time looking, caressing, and teasing the base of Jensen’s cock; Jensen doesn’t mind, letting the anticipation build for both of them.

He knows Jared’s never done this. More than once between sex and sleep, they’d rested together and whispered about their sexual cravings and experiences; somehow, rimming was at the top of Jared’s ‘I’ve Never…’ list. Jensen’s totally willing to be his one-and-only test subject.

And _damn_ , Jared has been hiding some serious talent. His mouth is wide open and so, so wet. Jensen’s grateful he’d taken such a long shower to sweat out his hangover, because Jared’s enthusiasm is breathtaking. Literally. Jensen’s having trouble sucking air into his lungs. He can barely look at Jared’s proud forehead between his thighs, throwing his head back into the pillows. Absorbing all the different stimuli—Jared’s hair brushing against sensitive skin, his nose nudging up behind Jensen’s balls, and his tongue swirling like a maelstrom around his hole, flicking forward each time Jensen moans. Jared is a goddamn natural, and Jensen would tell him if his mouth wasn’t so dry from panting.

Jared is no slouch with his hands, either. He forces Jensen’s legs to stay wide while reaching for Jensen’s hand. Jensen squeezes his fingers through Jared’s, the back of his palm held fast to the bed, Jared’s grip the only restraint he wants or needs.

With a deep whimper, Jared breaks away, rapid breaths hitting Jensen’s tongue-bathed skin. He appears as wrecked as Jensen feels, as if he knows there’s no possible way for him to get everything he wants, but he plans to try regardless. He doesn’t lick his lips, but he does stare open-mouthed at Jensen’s fluttering hole. Jensen keens, uses his body to seduce, and _finally_ Jared plunges back in, his tongue gyrating in a shallow spiral.

It’s obvious when Jensen’s about to come: his legs are shaking, nerves firing impulses that never make it north of his dick. Jared pushes up and drops his hot, overworked mouth onto Jensen’s cock just in time to swallow his load.

He must pass out for a minute, opening his eyes to see Jared standing next to the bed in his underwear, dick curved under that single layer of soft cotton. Jensen licks his lips, silently telling Jared to come hither. Jared leans down, his breath minty-fresh.

“Good?”

“I’ll let you know when I can feel my legs,” Jensen mutters. “You really earned your merit badge on that one. Anything else you want to try, feel free. I’m yours.”

Jared’s gaze is tender; most of the manic energy has bled away. The same can’t be said for Jared’s dick, his warm musky scent feeding Jensen’s senses, and he wastes no time reciprocating with his own oral exhibitions.

&&&&&

Jensen starts the new week thinking he successfully fucked the clubbing urge out of Jared’s mind. But come Wednesday afternoon, Jensen’s telling Jared that he can’t go out tonight over their coffee break.

Taking a night to let loose isn’t a bad idea, Jensen just can’t. Not tonight when he’s been invited to a client’s private dinner function, and with the way business is going, networking trumps his social life. Only later he finds out that Jared called Blake and together they’ve gathered a posse. That smells like trouble.

Common sense tells Jensen to argue, or compromise by offering to go out this weekend or inviting Jared to his work dinner. His chance for success on either option is slim. So he smiles and tells Jared to go without him.

Jensen gets home just before ten-thirty, hurries to change out of the suit he’s been wearing since that morning. He aches, notes a stiffness in his joints that isn’t normally there, and he vows to log one or two good runs this weekend along with a visit to the country club. These days, with Jared in his bed almost every night, Jensen’s motivation is easily bribed back into slumber by a kiss, a warm arm reaching around his chest. He hasn’t golfed in nearly three weeks.

Again, he considers asking Jared to move in with him. His house is spacious enough and Jared barely spends any time at his apartment unless he’s grabbing a nap after work or using his complex’s gym. There are pieces of Jared all over Jensen’s house—cowboy boots by the back door, colorful bags of candy in the cupboards, phone chargers tangled with Jensen’s behind the desk.

Still, Jensen hasn’t _popped_ the question, struck by the hollowing fear that something’s missing.

Jensen doesn’t consciously make the decision to wait up, but he’s watching Netflix when his phone rings at a quarter ‘til twelve.

“Cindy?”

“Hey, Jensen,” Cindy says, voice nearly drowned out by the heavy twang of a country music station. “Blake called and asked me to pick him up. We’ve got Jared with us and we’re on our way to drop him off.”

“Where’s Jared’s truck?” he asks.

“At Mark’s, I think.” She repeats his question to whoever else is in the car, and Jensen finally hears Jared’s slurred voice in the background. _Awesome_. “Yeah, Jamie drove them earlier.” Cindy drops her voice, probably unnecessary given the level of noise around her. “He’s pretty drunk, Jensen.”

“It’s okay. Just bring him back here and I’ll take care of him.”

Ten minutes later, Jensen hears Jared stumbling in through the garage. Cindy walks in behind him. Jared stumbles right into Jensen’s arms, subjects him to a sloppy forehead kiss.

“How’s m’favorite suit?” Jared’s words run all over each other. “God, ‘m thirsty. We’ve got water right?” He disappears into the kitchen, leaving Cindy staring at Jensen.

“Christ,” Jensen mutters. “It’s the middle of the week.”

“Blake’s just as bad,” Cindy says. “But he fell asleep so I left him out in the car.”

“You’re so nice.”

“What?” she smirks. “I cracked a window.”

They listen to Jared banging around in the kitchen, a scavenger hunt for his candy stashes, Jensen guesses. “Where’d they go tonight?”

Cindy sighs. “They had a couple drinks at Keegan’s, but they ended up at The Red Zone.”

Jensen groans. He’s familiar with the gay-friendly bar, even gone once or twice to shoot pool with some of his buddies. But their late-night atmosphere is geared more towards the bump ‘n grind kind of encounters, turning one room into a strobe-filled dance floor.

“The guys were cool with that?”

“I guess DJ and Ben were there for a while, too,” Cindy tells him, wincing when Jared gets frustrated with a cupboard drawer, shoving it back into place from the sound of things. “And you know Blake and Mark, they’re cool with anything. I kinda think Blake likes getting hit on,” she adds with a humorous quirk to her lips. “But he was arguing with Jared in the car—something about the guys Jared was dancing with.”

“Jared was?” Jensen finds himself wishing for the burn of alcohol in his stomach. “Did he—”

“No,” she says quickly, “I didn’t hear anything like that. Blake just kept yelling that Jared went a little too far with one of them. And he told Jared that he couldn’t ‘start this shit up’ all over again just because he had a rough weekend, or something.” She shrugs. “Sorry, it was kinda hard to listen to all that while I was concentrating on the road.”

“No, it’s fine. I’m glad you brought him home.”

“You guys wan’ any pizza?” Jared yells from the kitchen. “I’m gonna make some.”

“I should go,” Cindy says, “before Blake wakes up and thinks I abandoned him. You’d better…” She waves towards the kitchen. Jensen hears the oven being turned on. “Yeah, have fun with him!”

Once Cindy leaves, Jensen puts a stop to Jared’s late night culinary urges and convinces him to come to bed instead. Jared says nothing about the club while Jensen helps him into something comfortable enough to pass out. He swallows two ibuprofen without protest and complains about his leg as Jensen climbs into bed with him.

“Haven’t danced like that ‘n a while,” Jared says, poking at his thigh. Jensen grabs his fingers and pulls them away. “Think I overdid it, Jen. Prob’ly gonna hurt tomorrow.”

“Maybe you should take the day off,” Jensen suggests, killing the light on his side of the bed. “I’ll call Rich when I wake up so that you can sleep in.”

Jared struggles over onto his stomach. “Too good to me, Jen,” he mumbles around the pillow shoved under his face. “The best suit I know.” His arm’s like a boa constrictor, wrapping around Jensen and drawing him close. Jensen doesn’t try to escape, listening carefully to the unfiltered confessions whispered across his cheek. 

“Should’ve been there tonight. I don’t know why I—” he cuts himself off, nuzzles into the pillow and tightens his hold on Jensen as if he could evaporate. “Had t’show everyone I’m okay. ‘M not broken. Right, Jen?”

Jared’s snoring lightly a few seconds later, leaving Jensen struggling to come up with an answer.

&&&&&

“You’re worried about Jared, aren’t you?” Cindy asks, and Jensen realizes he’s been staring at the coffee machine in the break room for five minutes.

At the table, Melanie looks up from her spinach wrap. She makes an overly affectionate sound. “You’re still dating the security guard? That’s so sweet.”

Jensen nods. He grabs his mugs and leads Cindy back to his office.

Cindy takes her usual chair. “Was he okay this morning?”

“Better than I expected,” Jensen admits. “He called out sick.”

Despite his hangover this morning, Jared had acted like nothing out of the ordinary happened. Jensen had decided not to tell him about the nightmares.

“Blake wanted to, but he couldn’t get the time off.”

“Jared hides it pretty well, but I think something’s been plaguing him for a while.”

Cindy sighs. “These guys…it’s like their brains don’t work the same way. Their responses to things are different than ours would be. If you have a bad day, maybe you stay home and watch movies. Get close to someone. But when a combat veteran has a bad day, they can explode from the inside.

“I knew a lot of my dad’s friends from the service,” she continues while Jensen warms his heart with coffee. “They were like uncles to me. Each one reacted differently to the things they’d experienced overseas. I remember Tom, one of my dad’s best friends, threw himself into community service. He joined every Habitat for Humanity project in town, flew overseas to rebuild schools and homes after natural disasters. Which sounds fine, but his wife filed for divorce because he was never home.

“There was this other guy, Brent, who got arrested after he joined up with a group of guys who were planning to rob a bank.” Cindy shudders. “I mean, Brent was a totally normal guy before he went to Iraq. No one expected him to come back and become a criminal.”

“I don’t think Jared’s going to be robbing banks anytime soon,” Jensen says, shielding his anxiety behind a smirk. “He complains when he needs to cash a check.”

Cindy’s been exposed to military life since she was a kid; her insight is invaluable. Jensen had only gotten a taste from the Citadel, but a regimented education was nothing like true service. If only he’d accepted a place in officer training after graduation, he might be able to help Jared more than he is now.

“Blake’s got issues, too,” Cindy says. “I guarantee that everyone in the basketball group is working through _something_.”

“I’m not dating all of them,” Jensen mutters.

“I know. It’s harder when it’s happening to somebody we love.”

Jensen blushes. Cindy must see it, but she declines to comment. Probably because her cheeks are a matching shade of pink.

&&&&&

When Jensen gets home and Jared’s truck isn’t in the driveway, he pulls a U-turn and heads to Jared’s apartment. Before his conversation with Cindy (and since when did he rely so much on other people’s advice?), Jensen might have given Jared his space, but not anymore. He can’t leave the wound to fester.

Sure enough, the truck is in one of the handicap spaces outside Jared’s building. He must still be in pain to pull out his parking decal. Jensen parks, grabs the boxes of pizza and wings he’d picked up for dinner, and heads in without calling. At the very least, they’ll have it out on full stomachs.

The door’s unlocked; Jared’s on the couch, expression switching quickly from surprise to confusion when Jensen walks in. 

“I brought dinner,” he announces, setting the food on the counter. “How’re you feeling?”

“Like I oughta retire from dancing,” Jared says, meeting Jensen in the kitchen. “What are you doing here?”

Jensen indicates the greasy buffet. “I promised you pizza, remember? I thought you were coming back to the house after you’d picked up the truck.”

“I felt kinda weird,” Jared admits, staring at the floor. “I get that I was a mess last night.”

Suddenly, Jensen finds the laminate fascinating, too. “It happens.”

They divide slices as if it’s a chore, focusing on the food instead of the weighted silence. It hits Jensen: this is a _fight_.

Jared eats on the couch while Jensen stays at the counter picking at the wings, stomach rolling with all that spice and salt. He starts munching on the celery instead, but he can only stand the silence for so long.

“You need to talk to me,” Jensen says.

Jared inhales deeply through his nose. “Can we not do this right now?”

Jensen wishes that was an option. “Apparently you had a _pretty_ good time last night.”

“What? Am I not allowed to have fun?” Jared’s eyes harden into steel. “Am I just supposed to sit at home and watch war documentaries, crying into my beer? Be the broken man everyone expects me to be?”

There’s that word again. _Broken_. So many issues in one outburst, Jensen doesn’t have a chance to note all of them.

“I don’t know what you’re trying to do right now,” Jensen tries to explain what he’s feeling. “I mean, I was fine with you going out, but hitting on other guys—”

“Who said I was hitting on them?”

“Jared—”

“No, Jen, you know me. I wouldn’t do that.”

Jensen sighs. That’s not the point he’s trying to make either. “Do I know you, Jared? Really?” When Jared doesn’t respond, the words start pouring out of Jensen, burning like acid in his esophagus. “I know how you like your meat cooked. I know which side of the bed you’d rather sleep on. I know how you treat people, and I know your favorite movies. But there’s _so much_ I don’t know about you,” he pleads, crossing to the couch. 

Challenged, Jared stands and faces him. “What you just said…that’s not enough?”

“If this is going somewhere”—Jensen motions between their chests—“I need a little bit more. I want to know _why_ you were so desperate to go out, what made you hit on random guys.” Jensen wills himself to be calmer. “You can ask me anything, Jay. About my past, present, or future, and I’ll tell you whatever I can.”

The way Jared is clenching his jaw looks painful, but Jensen maintains eye-contact. Jared may not understand it yet, but Jensen’s fighting _for_ him.

“What if I _can’t_?” Jared asks.

“There must be something you can talk to me about.”

Jensen sees the signs too late: the tic between Jared’s lip and nose, the quick flash of a sneer, the emptiness in his eyes. Jared’s primed and ready to attack.

“Want me to talk about the guys I slept with after I got out of the hospital?” Jared advances. “Every guy I fucked because I couldn’t get over the fact that I was able to _walk_? Or, maybe you want to hear about the guys who refused to touch me afterwards when they saw my scars?”

Jensen breathes through his nose, in and out. He refuses to let Jared bait him. “I’m not going to get angry over things you did before we met, Jared. It wouldn’t be fair.”

“You sure about that?” Jared asks. “’Cause I’d be pissed if I found out my boyfriend used guys the same way criminals use cell phones. I liked ‘em easy and disposable.”

“You’ve said this all before,” Jensen points out. Jared had confessed his less-than-admirable sexual history—albeit with fewer vulgarities—after Ben’s car accident and subsequent outburst. Jensen hadn’t held him accountable then either. Who was he to judge? “Back then, you slept around to prove you _could_. And you’ve changed, Jared.”

“Have I?” The question contains more sadness and less anger as Jared goes from sixty-to-zero in a heartbeat. “When I was out there dancing…something _hurt_ inside my chest, Jen. It was like I’d just been released from the hospital all over again. I just needed to forget for a little while; I needed to feel! I don’t think I really knew what I was doing, but when I realized…”

Jared collapses onto the couch. Jensen quickly sits beside him.

“I meant what I said,” Jensen tells him, scooting closer without touching Jared yet. “I’m not angry. I’m just…” He scrambles for the right words and discovers that they’ve been there all along. “I love you, Jared. There’s nothing I won’t try to _fix_ for you, and I know that sounds crazy and weird, but I’m so goddamn invested in you—so fucking in _love_ with you, that I—”

Jensen realizes that Jared isn’t breathing; his eyes are wide and wet, reflecting the shock Jensen feels at his sudden and unplanned admission.

“You mean that?”

Jensen can’t help laughing. Of all the things he could have responded with… “Oh my god, Jared. Of course I mean it.” He leans into Jared’s arms, uses the embrace to keep from exploding into a thousand pieces.

“Jen…” Jared maneuvers him up to eye level, pressing their faces close. “You know I love you, too, right?”

Jensen sniffs. “You’d better.”

“Shit.” Jared’s voice is shaky, barely more than air. “The things I said…I’m so fucking sorry. And after you brought me pizza, too.”

Jensen laughs again. When his emotions finally settle, he’s practically winded, exhausted from the roller-coaster ride. At his side, Jared’s a boneless mass, lips pressed against Jensen’s shoulder. They’ve abandoned dinner, now a cold pile of grease, and neither of them pays attention to the television (stuck on Sportscenter since Jensen came over). Jensen can just barely reach the remote, clicking the room into silence.

“You’re not broken,” he whispers, feels Jared’s breath catch in his lungs. “But I want you to tell me when you’re not okay. I’ll help, even when that means letting you hit on me as often as you want.”

“Promise?”

“Absolutely,” Jensen says. “Now how about we clean up and go home?”

&&&&&

Jared officially moves into Jensen’s house on the first of July. He’d been renting his apartment on a month-to-month basis, living in a state of semi-permanence until his future resolved itself.

To celebrate, they throw a traditional barbecue a few weeks later. They invite enough people to fill Jensen’s fenced-in backyard, which Jared had labored over for a week in order to ‘heal the damage done by its neglectful owner.’ Despite Jared’s injury, he’d edged and weeded the flower beds after work, planted actual flowers in them, and trimmed every shrub and small tree on Jensen’s property.

“Damn,” Jensen said as he stared, stunned, at his made-over backyard.

Jared had smiled, wiping sweat from his brow and leaving fingerprint-shaped smudges of dirt on his skin. “The yard looks good, huh?”

“I was talking about you.” Jared’s shabby jeans were worn loose on his hips, stained brown at the knees, leaving a tempting slice of his black cotton boxers visible above his belt. A dirty white tank completed the lawn-boy fantasy image. “But yeah, the yard looks great!”

Tonight, _their_ backyard is filled with friends, coworkers, and even Jensen’s parents who’d flown in from Arizona for the weekend. Jared and Mark switch off on the grill while Jensen mans the bar on the back porch. Soaking up the view of his social circle all in one place, Jensen smiles, realizing how lucky he is. His dad swings by the grill, gives Jared a friendly slap on the back and says something that leaves both of them grinning. Blake and Cindy are holding court at one of the picnic tables Jensen had rented, both of them aglow with shared happiness. Jimmy and his girlfriend are whispering while they watch Lincoln flirt with two women from EKI.

Warren had declined Jensen’s invitation. During their last round out at the country club, he seemed happy for Jensen; “But a barbecue’s not really my scene,” he’d said.

“Are you sure? I’ll buy a bottle of the good stuff,” Jensen promised, but it wasn’t enough to sway Warren. Privately, Jensen was relieved. He adored Warren Creavalle as a friend, but their social worlds barely overlapped.

They have plenty of beer and soda along with enough food to feed a battalion. The laughter lasts well into the night when their guests begin leaving in groups and pairs. Jensen’s parents stick around to help with the clean-up before heading back to their hotel. When they’re finally alone, Jared grabs two beers from the cooler and collapses next to Jensen in a deck chair.

“Hell of a night, huh?”

Jensen gladly accepts a bottle after Jared pops the cap. All night, he’d made sure no one went thirsty, but never got the chance to have more than two beers. He suspects Jared’s fairly sober, too. There’d been too much to enjoy, so alcohol wasn’t a necessity. Of course, that hadn’t stopped Blake and DJ from organizing a game of beer pong.

“I think we oughta lay off entertaining for a little while,” Jensen muses.

“Didn’t you have fun?”

“No, I did,” he says, “but I barely got to see you all night. It wasn’t fair.”

Jared’s lips curve over the rim of the bottle. “You get to see me _all_ the time now,” he teases. “Pretty soon you’re gonna be sick of looking at my face.”

“Then I’ll look at your ass instead.”

They finish their beers and follow the crescent moon’s low arc in the sky. Eventually Jensen can’t disguise his yawns.

Jared looks over fondly. “Time for bed.”

“Are you kidding?” Jensen lets Jared pull him out of the chair. They squeeze chest-to-chest through the patio door, unwilling to separate. “You know some people brought us gifts, right?”

“For what?”

Jensen shrugs. “Like for a housewarming, I guess. But still… _presents_.”

“Fine,” Jared concedes, “gifts first, and then bed.”

“Gifts, sex, and _then_ sleep.”

Jared rolls his eyes dramatically. “My mistake.”

&&&&&

Saturday games at the rec center take a tumble down their list of priorities. The group agreed beforehand to cancel their weekly meet-up the morning after the housewarming party—a lesson learned after Blake’s birthday—but it’s not the only time Jensen and Jared take a pass.

Two weeks after the party, Jared drives Jensen down to San Antonio to meet Annie and her fiancé. Jared’s parents are not included, and Jensen doesn’t press, but he’s happy that Jared is sharing more about his life, his family—the things that shaped him before the Army became his entire existence.

There are times they simply don’t feel like getting out of bed. Sleeping in is a luxury and they bask in it when they can, rolling between narrow shafts of sunlight as they cling to the last moments of a dream. Jared usually comes to consciousness first in the mornings, but he’ll stay in bed as long as Jensen’s asleep, reading or using Jensen’s tablet.

With acres of sleep-warmed skin available to him, Jared pulls Jensen against his chest, tickles down along his ribs and cajoles Jensen’s morning wood into full hardness. That’s when Jensen usually wakes up, nuzzling into the angle between Jared’s shoulder and jaw. Jensen likes to stay passive, curling into the shape of Jared’s body and opening his legs. Sometimes Jared strokes him quickly; others, he’ll wet his fingers in Jensen’s mouth, use spit to bait his hole with pressure. Either way, Jensen will come hiding his moans against Jared’s throat, kneading Jared’s inner thighs to keep from shooting out of his hold and rutting against Jared’s stomach.

Jensen tries to get Jared out on the golf course, but Jared finds nothing appealing about spending hours in the heat and humidity, “chasing little white balls with metal sticks.” 

He’s able to keep his standing tee time with Warren nearly every other Sunday, but the invitations to drinks, businesses lunches, and charity events slow to a trickle. Remarkably, Jensen’s grateful; if Warren doesn’t invite him, it spares Jensen from saying no.

Mid-July, Jared begins teaching another eight-week self-defense course with his buddy Roller, who’s not at all what Jensen expected. When he finally meets Roller before the first class, Jensen’s surprised to see a slightly older man with dark, Hawaiian features and a laugh that can drown out the rest of the noise in the café. Roller—whose real name is Moe Kahluini—is full of good humor. In comparison, Jared’s personality seems muted, but all three of them are smiling by the time Jensen waves goodbye to them outside the university’s wellness center. 

After class, Jared comes home a little sore, but invigorated, telling Jensen all the ways he let his coeds kick his ass across the mats. Despite his workouts, he’s never too tenderized to turn down Jensen’s offer of a massage coupled with an orgasm before they settle in for a Netflix marathon and a couple of beers.

&&&&&

Living together makes sense, and Jared fits seamlessly into Jensen’s space, but the change isn’t the magic pill Jensen was expecting. The strange behavior and unpredictable emotions that Jared is susceptible to morph into full-fledged symptoms as the weeks go by. Evaluated individually, Jared’s behavior might be attributed to the stress of a bad day, or a disagreement with Jensen. But strung together, they spell out a much larger issue.

Jensen knew about Jared’s sleeplessness, but he’d never realized how many naps Jared took after work to make up for the lack of sleep. Typically his shifts end before Jensen leaves the office, and Jared uses that time to hit the gym (he’d gone back to working out at the VA after he’d moved in), or head home early, but more and more often Jensen comes home and finds Jared sacked out on the couch.

He needs the rest, Jensen keeps telling himself, and devotes more time to finding creative ways to wake Jared.

Jared’s concentration problems are harder to rationalize.

They blow a Sunday afternoon at IKEA and come home with a truckload of boxes to build a new system of shelves in Jensen’s office and a new desk for Jared. It’s exhausting enough without the irritation of having to follow a novel’s worth of Swedish stick drawings, but Jared snaps after five minutes of struggling with the same piece of painted pressboard.

“Dammit,” he curses, pacing across the room. “I can’t. Why do we even need this stupid thing?”

Jensen’s not having much luck either, but he’s taking assembly one step at a time. “I can handle the shelves if you want to start on the desk,” he offers calmly even though he’s ready to gouge an eye out with that stupid hex key.

“I can do it, I just….” Jared groans.

“Alright, take your time.”

That’s not what Jared wants to hear. “I don’t need time, Jen!” he shouts. “It’s just fucking impossible.” Hands on his hips, Jared’s gaze bores holes into the pile of boxes. Jensen lets him fume, steadily working on the section in front of him.

“Can you grab us some water?” Jensen asks when the pressure of Jared’s stare starts to hurt.

“Fine,” Jared mutters, storming out.

Jensen gets little accomplished in the twenty minutes Jared’s gone, listening carefully for slammed doors or angry cursing. There’s nothing but silence in the house until Jared comes back into the office with two glasses of water and a plate with four sandwiches. Keeping his words to a minimum, he apologizes and sets the food on Jensen’s desk, but he doesn’t pick up and start working again.

It takes Jensen all night to put the shelves together (even then, he swears they’re slightly crooked). Jared helps him rearrange furniture, making space for the new desk once it’s finished. Neither mentions Jared’s outburst, but they circle around each other quietly for the rest of the evening until Jared comes to bed. He slides under the covers beside Jensen, kissing him and lifting the tablet from his hands.

Jensen flips him over and makes the most of his apology.

Unfortunately, Jared’s flashpoint anger comes to the surface more and more often. Jensen is continuously adding items to Jared’s list of triggers. Phone calls with his parents. Medical paperwork from the VA. Their cable bill, now in Jared’s name. The evening news. Politics. Celebrity gossip sites. Jensen eventually loses track.

Sometimes his anger burns all night, others it’s snuffed out quickly. Either way, Jensen’s heart hurts. He hates seeing Jared so worked up, helpless to keep a lid on his wildly swinging emotions.

The involuntary rages are hard enough, but it’s the despondence that really scares him.

Ben shows up at basketball one Saturday morning, beaming excitement from head to toe. Before the first game, he tells the group that he’s decided to start classes in the fall in order to become a surgical tech.

“That’s great, man,” Jensen offers his congratulations along with the rest of the group. Ben and DJ are all smiles during the games, flirting non-stop until Jimmy rolls straight through one of their displays of affection, laughing as DJ chases him across the gym. Afterwards, they treat the rest of the group to frozen yogurt. Sprinkles and fruit toppings go a long way towards making up for all the distractions they’d caused on the court.

On their way home in Jared’s truck, Jared looks over and asks, “Do you think I should go back to school?”

“Have you thought about it?”

Jared shrugs, easing into the busy weekend traffic. “Kinda lame to be a wannabe cop for the rest of my life.”

“It’s a good job,” Jensen says. “Steady pay, decent benefits. A lot of people don’t even have that.”

“Yeah, but I’m sure you’re getting sick of introducing me as a friggin’ security guard all the time.”

Jensen huffs. “You seriously think I care?” Jared’s expression doesn’t change. His eyes are on the road, thoughts clearly further away. “Look,” he continues, “if you don’t want to work in security anymore, _don’t_. Take classes if that’s what _you_ want to do. I just want you to be happy.”

It’s one of the most honest things Jensen’s ever said.

A few days later, Jensen comes home from work and finds Jared surrounded by papers on the couch.

“Did a library explode in here?” Jared doesn’t smile or look up. Jensen picks up the piece of paper closest to his feet. It’s a brochure for a local community college. “Hey, have you been researching classes? That’s awesome, Jared.”

Jared glances at the paper in Jensen’s hand. If Jensen were to drop down and kiss him right now, he’d be able to taste the bitterness. “So you _do_ think I need a new job.”

“That’s not what I said,” Jensen tells him in a hurry, sitting down next to him. “I’m glad you’re looking into your options.”

“It’s all bullshit,” Jared says. He shoves a stack of papers off the couch. “I can’t go back.”

Jensen highly doubts that, but he lets it go. “What were you thinking of studying?”

“Why does it matter? I’m not going.”

Jensen keeps his sigh behind his teeth. “What were you studying before you joined the Army?”

“Architecture,” Jared quietly admits, staring at the television screen like the black void is going to suck him in.

“Any interest in going back to that?”

“Not really.”

“So we can cross that off the list,” Jensen says. “Would you rather take online classes or enroll somewhere like—”

Jared gets up and walks out of the room before Jensen can finish his question. 

Jensen lets the cushions swallow him. He has no problem with Jared going back to school; the extra activity and commitment would be positive changes. But he understands how daunting the decision must be for Jared. His last rejection had come from the Army after his hospital stay, and Jensen knows Jared has never worked his way past that. Opening himself up to another rejection would take courage; he needs to show Jared that he’s just as strong now as when he’d served overseas.

For dinner, Jensen throws together two large salads. In Jared’s bowl, he adds extra bell peppers and gorgonzola cheese, cooks a chicken breast in Cholula sauce to slice over the top. Jensen sautés his chicken in olive oil, cuts it into cubes over a bowl of spring mix, tomatoes, feta, and olives. The mixed aromas of chicken, crumbled cheeses, and spices fill the house, but Jared doesn’t reappear.

Jensen eats in the dining room, thumbing through his Facebook feed on his tablet. He hears Jared in the kitchen around eight o’clock and when he takes his empty bowl back, Jared’s food is gone.

The next morning, Jared acts as if nothing’s wrong. He’d avoided Jensen for the rest of the night, absent when Jensen went to bed, but all signs of his silent breakdown are gone when Jensen comes down for coffee. The couch is empty, Jared’s papers are gone. Jared’s waiting in the kitchen, slicing fruit and crushing a pack of granola bars in his fist to make homemade yogurt parfaits.

At the office, while he’s waiting for Jared’s usual latte to finish brewing, Jensen weighs the bad against the good. Jared’s dejection, his match-strike to anger, the nightmares that follow his drinking, against Jared’s never-ending affection, his sense of humor, and his pride in the things he’d accomplished for his country. The ratio still comes out heavily in favor of their relationship, and Jensen breathes a sigh of relief. Deep down, he knows he’d _feel it_ if the relationship turned into something he no longer wanted.

Jared is his usual smiling self when Jensen steps out of the elevator, coffees in hand. It could all be an act, Jared forced to play the part of a charming, personable security guard, but at least he’s here rather than hiding from his life. 

“Hey.” 

Jared takes his latte with a small smile. “Hey,” he replies, ghosting a touch over Jensen’s fingers. “How’s the day treatin’ you?”

“Better now,” Jensen says. “You?”

“Ready for it to be over.” Jared drops his head, a break in his performance. “I’m kinda tired. Didn’t get much sleep last night.”

Jensen refrains from mentioning how common that must be. “My afternoon’s kinda light,” he says instead. “I’ll be able to get outta here early.”

“Seriously?” Jared’s earnest expression touches Jensen’s heart. “I was thinking about going to the range for a bit, blowing off some steam. You wanna head out there with me?”

Shooting is less than a hobby, more like high powered stress relief when Jared needs something more hardcore than the gym. Jensen understands the necessity of it, and doesn’t keep any guns of his own, but every now and then he enjoys emptying a few clips downrange to keep his Citadel skills sharp. Jared uses it to channel his emotions into controlled violence, but he always comes out with steady hands, a calmer heart.

“Sure,” Jensen says, but he wants to get something out of tonight, too. “Sushi after?”

Jared pouts, but Jensen knows better. He’s seen Jared sneak more than one bite of his tempura roll.

“Fine,” Jared says, “but we’re getting fried ice cream.”

&&&&&

The end of July marks one year since Jared was released from the hospital. Surprisingly, Jensen learns the significance of the date from Ben when he asks if Jared has mentioned anything.

Jensen and Ben are the only ones left in the locker room. Jared and DJ are already on their way to Fort Worth to attend a retirement luncheon for one of their former CO’s. Jensen’s just putting the last of his gear back into his duffel when Ben starts talking to him.

“He hasn’t said anything,” Jensen tells Ben, slightly wary. They’re on friendly terms, but Jensen rarely discusses his boyfriend with the guy. The scars are still there. “Why?”

Ben looks sheepish. “You know Jared and I shared a hospital room for a little bit, right?” Jensen nods, and Ben continues. “Well, I got out before he did, but I made a promise to check up on him in a year, no matter where we ended up. He did the same for me.” He stops and takes a deep breath. “But I guess I don’t really need to ask how he’s doing, huh? You’re taking pretty good care of him.”

“Look, Ben—”

“I mean it, okay? I’m not trying to be an asshole. Again.”

Despite himself, Jensen smirks.

“You guys are really good together,” Ben adds. “I’m glad it’s working out.” He deliberately clears his throat. “Jared’s doing okay though…right?”

Jensen knows what Ben’s asking. Not wanting to give away too much, he answers with his own question.

“The way you reacted after your car accident…” Jensen treads carefully, aware of the minefield he’s stepping into. “Was that PTSD?”

“A couple months ago I would’ve decked you just for asking that,” Ben says, shaking his head. He sits on the bench, leaving plenty of room for Jensen. “Which makes the answer kind of obvious, I guess.” There’s a pause. “You’re asking because of Jared, aren’t you?”

Jensen takes the offered seat. “I’d be lying if I said I didn’t have a few concerns.”

“You know, I used to think I was supposed to suffer through all this crap on my own. Figured asking for help made me weak,” Ben admits. “We all went through some shit over there, Jensen, and we’ve all gotta work out a way to deal with it. I thought I was doing okay for a while,” he says quietly, “but I guess I was wrong.”

“What changed your mind?”

Ben blushes. Definitely not the reaction Jensen expects.

“DJ,” he says. “After the car accident, he came over to my place and straightened me out.”

Jensen raises an eyebrow. “Just like that?”

“All it took was a few rounds of screaming, me trying to knock DJ on his ass, and then him laying me out with a nice combo. He had more than a few things to say to me. So yeah,” he snaps his fingers, “it was just like that.”

Jensen imagines Jared would exhibit a similar amount of fight, pride built up like a wall blocking out the sun.

“I’ll always remember what DJ told me,” Ben says. “Well, most of it probably shouldn’t be repeated, but the highlight was that I deserved to live a good life after all I’d done. I served my country, took a fucking _bullet_ to the shoulder,” he curses, sweeping his fingers over his upper arm. “DJ said I’d earned a healthy life, but that I needed to fight for it.” He grins. “And if there’s one thing I’m pretty good at, it’s fighting.”

&&&&&

Jensen has the rest of the day to think about what Ben said. Jared calls while Jensen’s out mowing the lawn and leaves a message saying he and DJ are staying in Fort Worth to have dinner with a few friends they’d met up with at the luncheon.

Ben’s words are an injection of courage, but Jensen needs to translate them into something Jared will accept. History shows that talking to Jared about his symptoms works as well as dousing a fire with alcohol. More often than not, it blows up in Jensen’s face.

Eventually, he needs to conquer his fear of getting burned.

He starts with small suggestions, hoping Jared will come around to the opinion that help, in whatever form, doesn’t make him weak.

“I talked to someone before I was released,” Jared tells him on Sunday night after Jensen hints at the possibility of group therapy.

“For how long?”

Jared stabs his green beans over and over. They’d cooked dinner (for once), bumping hips in the kitchen as they pulled together a meal from scratch. But Jared’s thousand-yard stare at the table put a damper on the occasion. Jensen hates that look, the way Jared’s impassivity steals part of his soul.

“We had a couple of sessions,” Jared says once his focus returns to the table, the food, Jensen. “They were mandatory.”

“Do you ever wish you’d continued with—”

“Is this about my nightmares?” Jared asks, out of the blue. “I’m trying to make sure they won’t bother you.”

“By staying awake all night?” Jensen can’t help himself; the words just slip out. Frustration has short-circuited his brain-to-mouth filter.

Jared’s shoulders slump, his nose twitches. “It works.”

“Does it? You must be exhausted, Jay.”

“I manage,” Jared says, stiff upper lip. “I can do my job.”

“This isn’t about your job.” The food on Jensen’s plate no longer appears appetizing. “I’m worried about you.”

“Don’t be. They’re just dreams,” Jared insists.

“Can you at least tell me about them?” Jensen asks.

Jared stares wide-eyed across the table. “Why? Talking about them won’t help, and there’s no way I want you carrying around those images. I can handle it.”

“That’s what everyone says,” Jensen mutters.

Jared’s fork hits the plate with a _clang_. “Don’t.” He cuts his teeth on the word. “Just don’t.”

Jensen watches Jared go through the motions to physically contain his aggression. Arms fall to his sides; no doubt his fists are clenched over his lap. Shoulders square, some slack in the set of his jaw.

“I’m okay, Jensen. Seriously,” he says with a voice as robust as tissue paper. “It’s been over a year since my convoy was hit.” 

That, right there, is more of a description than Jensen’s ever gotten.

“This stuff takes time to get over,” Jared’s saying. “So I just need more time, okay? The nightmares won’t last forever. If they really bother you, I can sleep in the other room…”

Jensen shakes his head. “That’s the last thing I want.”

The temperature in the room rises with Jared’s smile. He picks up his fork and starts eating again, as if the issue’s been resolved to everyone’s satisfaction.

Feeling restless after dinner, Jensen decides to go for a run. He pokes his head into the office where Jared is typing away on his laptop.

“A late night run…” Jared leans back in his chair. “Should I be worried?”

Jensen slaps his belly. “Gotta work off some of this,” he jokes, knowing full well how much Jared likes his stomach the way it is, valleys in all the right places and sporting a lightly bronzed summer glow. He hears Jared’s, “Love you,” as he’s walking away.

In the dark, Jensen sticks to a well-known route, pounding the pavement with rhythmic _slaps_ of sole to street. He runs two miles out until his phone lights up with more than one text from Jared, interrupting his playlist.

— _I’m already in bed._

— _Waiting for you._

— _Naked._

— _Just thought you should know._

Jensen’s never covered the two miles it takes to get home faster in his life.

Jared _is_ waiting for him, naked as promised. He’s got the bottle of lube in his hand, condoms on the nightstand. In a split-second ruling, Jensen decides he wants Jared to fuck him.

Jared looks at Jensen like he’s lobbying for the reinstatement of Pluto as a planet. 

“Seriously?” Jared scoots over as Jensen hops into bed, his sneakers and running clothes littering the floor. “I kind of thought…”

“That I wouldn’t bottom for you?” Jensen asks, breathless. The endorphins have taken control; there’s pleasure in everything Jensen sees and touches. He demonstrates just how ridiculous Jared’s assumption is by straddling his hips and grabbing the lube. “You want to, right?”

“Fuck _yes_.”

That’s all Jensen needs to hear.

With his knees wide, Jensen’s quads are _burning_. Jared steadies him with a one hand around his hip, the other squeezing his ass. Low on patience and unwilling to wait through prep, Jensen opens himself, well aware of what Jared is packing. He’s measured it with his hands and lips, knows exactly how it fits against his own. And now— _finally_ —Jensen has Jared inside of him.

Jared is slotted behind him, undulating into his body and forcing the breath past Jensen’s lips with every thrust. He’s never silent, groans and grunts, dirty words and gasps of love. Jensen soaks up every sound, but nothing trumps the feeling of fullness, the way the entire lower half of his body adjusts to accommodate Jared’s cock.

It’s magnificent, but it gets even better when Jared rears back and forces Jensen onto his stomach. He fills Jensen all over again, taking him to the brink as his dog tags swing up and down Jensen’s spine with every thrust. Jared folds his fingers through Jensen’s, nails him to the bed and _takes_. And Jensen loves every fucking minute of it.

Jensen’s a useless wreck once Jared is through with him. He can barely lift his head onto the pillow, arms and legs useless from the extra exertion, but he’s never felt better. Jared’s smug little leer hangs around while he tosses the condom and cleans up, making sure Jensen doesn’t pass out in his own come.

“You’re a great boyfriend,” he mumbles.

“I must’ve been _really_ good for you to say such sweet things,” Jared teases, crawling into bed. He reaches over Jensen and grabs his tablet off the nightstand. “You mind?”

Jensen can’t even move.

Eventually, he summons the energy to roll against Jared’s side, pulling the headphones away from Jared’s ears. Jared hits pause on his video.

“All better?”

Jensen nods and leans up on steady arms to kiss Jared’s absurdly pink lips. Most of his anxiety is gone, well and truly fucked out of him, but in the quiet, he’s compelled to address one more concern. 

“Promise me something?”

“What’s that?” Jared asks, setting the tablet aside. “To fuck you like that more often?”

“Well, yeah. Definitely.” Sex needs to be in the cards _way_ more often. “But about before…” Jared tenses and Jensen immediately rubs his chest. “No, it’s okay. Just talk to me if you get overwhelmed.” 

It takes a few minutes during which Jensen fears he’s toppled the entire house of cards, but Jared finally nods. His promise is a silent one, but Jensen accepts it nonetheless. And he intends on holding Jared to that promise, bar nothing.

Jensen falls asleep soon after, more settled than he’s felt in weeks. He never sees the patch of bad luck he’s about to hit.

 

**PART FIVE.**

_There are bells ringing. Someone’s shouting, but it’s difficult to make out the voice over the clamor. Are they back at base already? Jared can’t remember the ride back to—_

_“…a perimeter! Iron Man! Shubert! On our six, now! Cover fire!”_

_Jared snaps to attention. Gotta follow orders. He hustles behind the truck, Shubert beside him. Jared’s head is full of cotton, but it’s immediately clear his four-vehicle convoy’s under attack._

_**Ping, ping. Slap, ping**. Bullets on metal. Incoming hostile fire. Jared catalogs trajectories, determines enemy positions. Fires back at heads popping up behind stone walls, shots from Shubert’s rifle repeating seconds behind his like an echo._

_Patters on his helmet—when did it start raining? Jared hasn’t seen rain in a month. The sun is dim behind scratchy brown haze. Stones drop at Jared’s feet. Not rain…dirt and rock falling from the sky._

_“Grenade!”_

_His spine locks. Panic, too real, unavoidable. No time to brace for impact— **get your head down**! Feels like an earthquake behind his back, the explosion bombarding the truck. Someone crawls up beside him, unrecognizable. **Check the patch**. It’s Meechum, one of their drivers, looking like a comic book villain with half his face lost under shards of glass from a shattered window._

_“Meech! Can you see?”_

_“I’m good, I’m good!”_

_Shots around the clock in every direction, snapping volleys back and forth. Another explosion sends more dirt up into the air. The grenade missing the mark. **We are the mark**. Oh fuck, **fuck**. Jared can’t breathe. _

_There’s blood coming down with the earthen rain, now. **Fuck! Am I hit**? None of them are supposed to die out here. Still can’t breathe, choking on the dirt. Feels a band across his throat—it’s only his goddamn chin strap cutting off his air._

_**Crack**. Wet gurgling beside him. “Shubert!”_

_But Shubert’s on the ground and he’s not moving. Blood paints the gravel. Jared and Meechum fire in sweeping arcs, stone turning to white dust where shots go wide. Puffs of red when they connect._

_Quieter now. Three, four, five seconds between shots. Voices, shouts, as soldiers from Jared’s company call out. Meechum crawls to Shubert’s side, rolls him and gasps at the amount of blood-caked dirt covering Shubert’s motionless chest. Another soldier, Shelton from E.O.D., hustles towards them._

_“Gotta get these trucks moving!”_

_“How many down?” Jared shouts._

_“Don’t know! Get ‘em loaded. No help for ‘em out here!”_

_Columns of smoke, warped metal lying in mangled heaps on the gravel road, crude buildings reduced to rubble. The smoldering carcass of a vehicle off to Jared’s left at the head of the convoy._

_The roadside bomb. He remembers now: the initial impact, having to exfil from the vehicles—they’re big targets. Jared was dazed, temporarily insensate._

_He sees friends on the ground, misshapen piles of camouflage and limbs in the dirt. Jared hurries towards them, not moving as easily as he ought to be, pain in his shoulder, throat, and calf._

_A frantic shout from a nearby rooftop. Not in English. Jared spins. There’s another car across the street, right across from Jared’s vehicle, its tires shot out. And he knows…_

_**No! No, no, no!** _

_He screams. “THERE’S ANOTHER—”_

_The second bomb detonates._

&&&&&

Bad things come in threes. Celebrity deaths. Star Wars prequels. Jonas Brothers. Even plain-old, everyday crap seems to cycle through in three rounds, each trying to deliver the knock-out punch.

The car accident is more of a hassle than anything significant.

It happens while Jensen’s navigating through the jam-packed parking lot at Trader Joe’s. One minute he’s cursing the lack of common sense and the next, some dude driving a snow-beast backs into the rear side panel of his Acura. Goddamn _idiot_ was texting, oblivious to the line of cars behind him.

The groceries take more of a beating than Jensen’s sedan. Summer cherries bleeding out on the leather, a package of frozen edamame that is beyond saving, two grass-fed steaks pronounced dead at the scene. Jensen sends a quick text to Jared before he’s dragged into the mindless bureaucracy of car accidents. The police officer called to the scene cares more about the fact that the driver of the white SUV was fiddling with his phone (a fact bystanders are clamoring to point out) than facilitating the insurance-swap. 

An hour later he pulls his slightly crumpled Acura into the garage, temples beginning to throb. He’d tried calling Jared from the scene but gave up after being sent to voicemail. Resigned to salvaging whatever he can from for dinner and going to bed early, Jensen’s utterly unprepared to be seized and hauled through the door as soon as he opens it.

“Wha—”

But Jared swallows the remaining sounds of Jensen’s outcry. He’s helpless, Jared’s mouth laying claim almost immediately and giving no quarter. Elbows knock against the wall, bags dropped to the floor. Jensen spares a thought for the groceries he’d saved before deciding he doesn’t really give a shit.

The sex rocks Jensen harder than the fender-bender.

“I got your fuckin’ text,” Jared growls, roughly stripping him out of his shirt and slacks. “Next time, _elaborate_ when you get in a goddamn car wreck!”

Jensen fights for breath in order to explain that it hardly qualified as a wreck, and that he’d tried to call, but Jared wants none of it. Once Jensen’s naked above the waist, Jared grabs his shoulders and spins him into the wall next to the door, less than ten feet between him and his banged-up Acura. Jensen presses his palms to the wall, submitting, because there are worse things than coming home and being devoured by his frantic boyfriend.

“Didn’t know if you were hurt, if you were coming home…” Jared pants against the back of Jensen’s neck, teeth bared against his skin. His fingers dig and tear at the button and zipper on Jensen’s pants, careless and impatient, but Jensen notices the way they tremble as they’re dragged across his belly. 

Feeling Jared’s fear puts a whole new spin on the sex. Jensen arches away from the wall, offers up his body for Jared to work out his angst and panic. Rushed and intense, there’s no foreplay beyond the pull of Jared’s teeth on the side of his throat and the ten-point pressure of his fingers. No matter, because Jensen’s cock could hammer nails, engorged with such a rush of blood, Jensen’s surprised he’s not dizzy. Jared rushes to prepare him, producing a packet of lube from his jeans (and holy _fuck_ , Jared’s still completely dressed, about to jackhammer Jensen into the drywall) and getting straight to business.

Every sound Jensen makes rebounds off the wall and hits him full-force. He’s drowning in the noise, the rush of blood in his ears and the labored gasps behind him as he’s impaled on Jared’s bare, slicked-down cock.

Jensen’s mind and body dissociate from one another for a moment. They’ve only barebacked twice since the results of their blood tests came back negative. Sometimes, in the thick of passion, they still grab a condom purely out of habit. But each time they fuck bare, the feeling short-circuits something in Jensen’s wiring; whether he’s on the giving end or receiving like he is now. It’s as if Jared’s pulse beats within him, syncing their heartbeats. The mental image of Jared’s unwrapped dick rubbing over his prostate spikes his pleasure—there’s still something illicit about not using a condom, and the taboo makes the sex exponentially hotter.

Jared is whispering as he fucks Jensen wide open, bitten-off syllables exhaled against his ear.

“Can’t lose you, Jen—need you so fuckin’ bad.”

Even with only a handful of brain cells to rub together, Jensen’s smart enough to know that his vehicular mishap somehow triggered Jared’s fierce desires, and he has every intention of addressing that _after_ Jared finishes taking him apart thrust by thrust.

Jared stops and starts, dick pulling out to leave Jensen’s hole gaping (he feels so _empty_ ) before he slams back in, sobs muffled in Jensen’s hair and against his shoulder. The adrenaline that had whipped Jared into a frenzy is bleeding out of him now, but they’re both still so goddamn hard and desperate. 

“C’mon,” Jensen moans. “You’re supposed to be fucking me. Can’t stop now, Jay.” He encourages Jared by grinding his ass back into the cradle of Jared’s hips, built by God to the exact specifications of Jensen’s body. Reaching back, he snags Jared’s shirt and pulls him in until they’re standing back-to-chest, calves-to-shins—a perfect, interlocking pair.

Smalls thrusts now, agonizingly accurate across Jensen’s prostate. Jared swivels his hips, leans forward and nuzzles against Jensen’s cheek.

“I’m never gonna stop,” he whispers, heavy words said in the heat of the moment, but remembered forever. “You close?”

So close it’s painful, but Jensen can’t get ahold of the words, tilting his hips back and begging for a long, deep slide to finish him off. With a resurgence of energy, Jared obliges. Coming feels like a free fall, endless and weightless, a gut-dropping plunge. His muscles wring Jared’s orgasm from his body, flooding and fulfilling.

Jensen and Jared fall forward against the wall and spend a full minute trying to catch their breath.

“You’re really okay?” Jared asks, voice wrecked, and somehow Jensen knows he isn’t referring to the rougher-than-usual sex.

“A hundred percent, I promise,” Jensen says, bringing his lips around for the languid kiss he’s been craving.

Dinner ends up being an underwhelming buffet of leftovers, during which Jensen recaps his parking-lot misfortune. Jared empathizes with his indignation, righteously angry at the texting driver, but there’s a glint in his eyes that doesn’t fade. He may appear calm, but there’s a storm beneath the surface.

Afterward, Jared takes him to bed for a slower, more seductive affirmation. The accident is all but forgotten until the sun rises.

&&&&&

During the first week in August, Jensen and Jared are fighting the heat and humidity of the high Texas summer and debating the merits of a long weekend somewhere less oppressive.

“We could go to New Orleans,” Jared suggests, fanning himself with the newspaper. This early, the heat is bearable as they try to enjoy a Sunday morning in the shade on Jensen’s back porch. “I’ve never been to Bourbon Street.”

“Pretty sure Louisiana’s just as bad,” Jensen says sluggishly, blood low on caffeine. The thought of a hot cup of coffee was unbearable. 

“The Bahamas? The heat never feels as bad when you’re at the beach, right?” Jared winks. “I’m pretty sure you could afford to whisk me away to the islands.”

They can definitely afford it. Before he met Jared, Jensen rarely took vacations, limiting himself to a personal day here and there, but the idea of a romantic getaway, just the two of them, has been on his mind for a while. Jensen sits down at his computer that afternoon and begins researching the possibility of a last-minute island vacation.

That’s when his mom calls.

She prefaces the call by saying, “Now I don’t want you to freak out,” which obviously has him doing just that. “Your father was down in Sedona hiking with the guys…”

As Jensen sits dumbstruck in the office, she goes on to explain that Jensen’s dad had slipped off a low ledge, fracturing his pelvis and his tailbone when he hit the rocky ground ten feet below.

Immediately, Jensen’s making plans. “If I can get a flight out tonight, I can be there in a couple of hours,” he says, clicking back into the airline sites to check flights to Flagstaff. “Do you need me to drive you down to Sedona?”

“Jensen,” she cuts him off, “your father’s already back here. The car trip wasn’t pleasant for him, as I’m sure you can imagine.”

“How the hell could he be back already if…” Common sense catches up to Jensen. “Wait, when did this happen?”

She sighs. “Last weekend.”

“And you didn’t _call_ me?” His shout draws Jared into the office. He sits in the chair opposite Jensen and waits. “What the hell, Mom?”

“I knew you’d want to drop everything and fly out here,” she says. Jensen definitely hasn’t inherited her patience. “Your father is fine, Jensen. He’s embarrassed,” she adds chidingly. “He’s been hiking for years, and now he’s gone and broken his _ass_ on some rocks!”

Not even her humor soothes Jensen’s dander. “So Dad’s home? He’s not in the hospital?” 

Jared looks up. He sets his hand on the desk with the palm up. Jensen reaches over and folds their fingers together. Jared doesn’t let go the entire time Jensen’s listening to his mom explain that his dad won’t need surgery—the fracture hadn’t gone all the way through his hip joint—but he would need physical therapy once he got back on his feet, which won’t be for at least four weeks.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to come out there?” Jensen asks. “I can take the time, and I know Jared would want to come, too.” He feels Jared squeeze his hand. “Even just to give you a break.”

She agrees to ask Jensen’s dad when he’s feeling more conversational. Apparently the pain meds have taken a lot out of him.

“Flagstaff wouldn’t be a bad place for a vacation,” Jared offers once Jensen hangs up, his nerves shot to hell. “Maybe we can go later this month.”

“There are no beaches,” Jensen says. “And we’d probably get stuck doing all kinds of work around the house while my dad’s out of commission.” 

Jensen tries to hide the tremor in his voice, but Jared rounds the desk and pulls Jensen to his feet, surrounding him with warm arms. “He’s gonna be fine, Jen. You heard what your mom said. With some good PT, he’ll be back to normal in six months at the most. You’ll see that for yourself when we fly out there in a few weeks.”

Every muscle in Jensen’s body feels like it’s been shaped out of lead as Jared walks him into the living room and leads him to the couch, arranging them both comfortably on the cushions. Jared idly flips through the channels until he finds the NASCAR race—a guilty pleasure that takes little to no effort to watch—before heading into the kitchen to grab a cup of coffee for Jensen (damn the heat, his body needs the jolt).

“Thank you,” Jensen says later on, still curled up against Jared’s shoulder, mug clutched in his hands. “Y’know, for making sure I didn’t go off the deep end.”

“Your dad’s a strong guy, and I’m sure he’ll be a much better patient than I was.” Jensen soaks up the affection for a few minutes before he hears Jared laugh. “But don’t think this means you’re off the hook for an island getaway. I need to see you in a tight little pair of swim trunks,” he says, licking his lips.

Jensen presses closer to Jared’s side, dragging his fingers up and down Jared’s forearm. “I’ve got a pair of those, you know.” He watches the bounce of Jared’s Adam’s apple as he swallows. “I’ll model them for you sometime.”

“I’m free now,” Jared says, but he makes no move to abscond with Jensen into the bedroom.

They while away the entire afternoon on the couch, travel plans forgotten. Jensen idly fiddles with Jared’s dog tags, pulling them out from underneath Jared’s shirt and smoothing his fingers over the warm stainless steel. There are times Jensen can’t stand the sight of them, mostly when Jared’s anger flares or one of his nightmares keeps Jensen awake all night. The tags are a constant reminder of the terrible things Jared’s gone through. But at other times, like now, Jensen sees the dog tags as a symbol of Jared’s strength; he wouldn’t have survived nearly a decade in the Army without an enormous reserve of fortitude and determination, virtues that Jensen has come to depend on.

Eventually, Jared places his hand over Jensen’s, stilling the restless movements of his fingers. “Feeling up to dinner?”

Jensen’s growling stomach answers for him.

&&&&&

Life gives Jensen a short respite. He books a four-day trip to Flagstaff for the end of August and promises Jared that they’ll make it to the Bahamas, or Key West, or Jamaica sometime in the fall. With images of warm, white beaches and sapphire waters, Jensen pushes himself a little bit harder on his runs. Goes the extra mile, literally, to make sure that when Jared _does_ see him in his skimpy swim trunks, it’ll be a sight he’ll never forget.

Jensen talks to his parents every day. The first time he sees his dad on video chat, Jensen starts crying, more out of relief than anything. Despite his mom’s assurances, he’s been worried sick, but seeing his dad, even in a weakened state, settles most of his fear. He updates his mom with their travel info and tells her to start a list of things that’ll need doing while he and Jared are in Flagstaff.

One Friday night, Jensen tags along to Jared and Roller’s self-defense class. Jared pulls him onto the mats for a ‘demonstration’ in front of the girls—should’ve seen _that_ coming—and they giggle when Jensen falls for an embarrassingly easy takedown.

At work, Jensen’s forced to bail on a few of his break-time coffee dates on account of work piling up. With their vacation less than two weeks away, Jensen can’t procrastinate; he doesn’t want anything getting in the way of their trip. But on Wednesday, Jared surprises him by bringing lunch up to EKI.

“Rich said he could cover the desk alone for thirty minutes or so,” Jared tells him, setting their BLT wraps on the desk. “And you’re still responsible for making coffee.”

Cindy pops her head in while they’re eating, gives Jared a quick little wave before begging Jensen to switch clients with her. The change means a bigger headache but fewer man-hours, so he agrees and gets back to his lunch.

“You’ve really got your work cut out for you, huh?” Jared remarks after Cindy leaves. “All this so you can cash in a few of your vacation days?”

Jensen nods. “Not like it’s really a vacation,” he says. “It’ll be tough enough without me having to think about work.”

“Hey, I plan on making sure you get some time to actually _relax_.”

“You, too. Right?”

Jared waves it away. “What’s stressful about my job? I hand out badges and give directions.”

“And take down purse snatchers,” Jensen reminds him. “That’s how we met, remember?”

Jared’s gaze grows fond. “How could I ever forget? God bless that scumbag.”

On Thursday, Jensen works non-stop from the time he arrives until two, determined to keep today’s coffee-date. It’s all about productivity, he tells himself. He simply works better when he’s able to recharge his batteries with a caffeine-and-boyfriend fix. Based on Jared’s beaming smile when Jensen enters the lobby, the same goes for him. 

“We should see a movie tonight,” Jensen suggests, desperate for a night of mindless entertainment.

“Yeah?” Jared glances up from his phone. “A little action in the back row?”

“Sure, if the movie sucks…”

Rich had gone to make his rounds, leaving Jensen and Jared alone at the desk. Foot traffic is light this time of day; the lobby is quiet and peaceful. Jensen would happily stay down here all afternoon if—

The fire alarm screams throughout the lobby, startling Jensen so hard that his lower body is shot numb—no feeling below his stomach. Claxons release an ear-shredding wail while strobe lights paired with the alarms flash in every direction. Seconds feel like hours, but Jensen’s heart finally kick-starts itself.

He spins towards Jared, shouting, “Do you think it’s a false alarm or—”

Jensen doesn’t bother finishing the question. Behind the desk, Jared has gone perfectly still, body locked in a freeze-frame. _Paralyzed_. A total nervous system shutdown. Jared’s eyes are twin vacuums, void of life. His mind has retreated, hooked and dragged halfway around the world like a prisoner taken into custody. Jensen does a double-take to ensure his boyfriend’s still breathing.

Behind him, each of the six elevator door open in succession. They’re automatically rerouted to the lobby in the event of a fire. Some are empty, but confused employees stumble out of the others, hands flat over their ears as they rush towards the front door. Jensen’s worked in the Ross Building long enough to know that the elevators don’t go into lockdown during scheduled drills. Either someone’s pulled the alarm accidentally, or—

“Jared!” Rich’s voice crackles through Jared’s radio, barely audible over the alarm. “9-1-1 dispatch is reporting calls from the tenth floor! Stay in the lobby,” he orders, “and make sure everyone coming through there gets out okay!”

Jared doesn’t even blink. 

Word must spread throughout the building as the alarms continue to blare. The stairwell doors open; men and women in suits and sharp attire come rushing out to fill the lobby. Jensen looks at Jared, shouts his name. An idea occurs to him when Jared fails to react.

“ _Sergeant_!” he screams. “Snap out of it!”

Jared comes around immediately, swinging his head in every direction until he focuses on Jensen. He looks down at his radio through which Rich continues to shout.

“Do you copy, Jared? Make sure the lobby is cleared!”

Decisively, Jared follows Rich’s order. He grabs Jensen on his way around the desk.

“Get outside, Jensen.”

“I can help you!” Jensen insists. The crowd of displaced employees is swelling around them. Through the front windows, Jensen sees multiple trucks from Dallas Fire-Rescue come screeching to a halt alongside the building.

“Help me _outside_ , please! Try to keep people calm and get them away from the building.”

The fervor in Jared’s eyes leaves Jensen no choice but to give in. Caught in a rip tide of corporate employees, he’s torn from Jared and pulled through the front doors and out onto the sidewalk.

&&&&&

“An electrical fire.” Jensen presses his cell phone to his cheek and closes his eyes. “I still can’t believe it.”

“I heard someone saying it started on the tenth floor and took out several offices within that law firm,” Cindy tells him. “Is Jared home yet?”

“Not yet.” Jensen looks out the front window as he says it, hoping to see his boyfriend’s truck pull into the driveway. “He called to say that the building had been cleared and no one was hurt. I guess one of the firefighters passed the info along.”

Jensen hasn’t seen Jared since they were parted in the lobby, and he’s desperate for Jared to come home. He’s less worried about the outcome of the fire than he is about the way Jared reacted to the alarms. All signs pointed to a traumatic flashback.

After ending his call with Cindy, Jensen sits by the windows and waits, passing his phone between his hands and willing it to ring. Jared finally pulls up twenty minutes later. Through the window, Jensen can see that his face displays no emotion. 

Jensen braces for rage, for _despair_ , for the burning pain of having to relive a terrible memory, but what happens next comes as a shock.

Jared walks into the room and drops his bag. He grabs Jensen as soon as he sees him, slamming his mouth down on Jensen’s before he can utter a single syllable, picking him up and ramming him into the wall like a forklift. 

His lips are cold pressure, not the welcoming warmth Jensen’s used to. Jensen’s mouth is driven wide open; he feels the strain in the corners, skin stretched to its limit. What Jared is doing doesn’t fit the definition of a kiss—it’s vicious, emotionless—and Jensen tries to fight his way out. But something, anger or adrenaline, lends Jared extra strength. He binds Jensen in a steel embrace, fingers digging towards skin, shoving clothes aside.

Jensen’s lips are battered and swollen; he can barely feel his tongue. But he summons every ounce of power he possesses, wedges his arms between their chests and heaves Jared back.

“What the _fuck_?”

Either Jared is oblivious to Jensen’s rage or he’s ignoring it. “Please, Jen,” he outright begs. “Please just let me. I need you so fucking much right now.”

His eyes are wild, unbalanced, and his posture is ramrod-stiff. When Jensen fails to immediately move out of range, Jared slides back into his space, pressing them chest-to-chest. This time he uses distraction as opposed to violence.

“I’ve gotta know you’re okay, Jen. Please, you’ve gotta let me see you…” Jared’s lips ghost across his eyelids. “Touch you…” He finds Jensen’s hand and squeezes. “Feel you. You’ve gotta fuck me, Jen.”

Jensen’s primal urges demand that he fold; the fire might not have been a major incident, but he wants to feel alive nevertheless. He needs something to fill the void left by his fear response, and rough, life-affirming sex sounds as good as anything else. However, the rest of Jensen’s mind is throwing up roadblocks and warning signs, because this isn’t Jared. Jensen may be the one restrained, but it’s Jared who’s incapable of consent. 

If Jensen were to use Jared like that, like he’s nothing but a hole to fuck, he’d never forgive himself.

“Step back, Sergeant,” Jensen growls, dodging Jared’s lips. As it had in the lobby, the use of Jared’s rank unlocks something within his mind. He blinks away the frenzy, eyes becoming glassy-bright and sharp like polished bullets. He eases his hold, and Jensen side-steps away along the wall.

“Jensen?”

“We can’t do this, Jay,” he says, shaking his head. “Not while you’re so…messed up.”

It is, without a doubt, the worst thing Jensen could say. Every feature on Jared’s face is brought to a point; he wears the shadows like a mask.

“Suddenly I’m not good enough to have sex with you?”

“How could you possibly think that’s what I meant?” Jensen asks, eyes stinging as he dams up his tears. Evidently Jared’s unable to process just how wrecked he is. “What happened today was _not_ okay. You need—”

“Don’t.” The single word possesses more bite than a piranha. “Don’t you dare tell me what I need, Jensen. You know nothing about it!” He spins away with the force of a tornado, pushing clear of Jensen as if physical proximity will hurt him. His dress shirt is rumpled, sleeves haphazardly rolled up, but his uniform jacket and emerald tie are missing from the ensemble.

Jensen reels. “I’ve been living with you for months, Jared! I know what’s been going on.”

“Bullshit,” Jared snaps. “You have no idea what I’ve been through! You went to some rich, pretty-boy military school, and then what? Did you decide you were too special to join the fight?” His eyes focus into deadly points. “Or were you scared?”

With a few careless words, Jared rips open an old wound; the thrashing pain leaves Jensen gasping.

Winded from the emotional uppercut, Jensen weakly shouts back, “This isn’t about me! I’ve watched you struggle for a long time. After what happened with the alarms…you need to get help.”

“Oh, so now you want to help me? News flash, Jensen! You’re not the first person who thought fixing me would make them feel better. People have tried!” His voice booms. “The Army fucked it up. My parents gave up. What makes you think you can do any better?”

His words batter Jensen’s defenses. He’s only ever heard Jared rave about his time in the service, but in the end, they’d cut him loose, too.

“Is that how you really feel about me?” he asks, voice barely above a whisper. He was willing to cut Jared some slack after the fire alarms fucked with his head, but this… “God, Jared. How could you think that? I want this for _you_ , not me!”

When he looks over at Jared, he sees some of the aggression draining out of his posture.

“I’ve seen what the stress is doing to you,” Jensen points out. “You’re barely holding it together right now. And I know—I _know_ —you don’t want to be broken anymore.”

Jared’s expression morphs into something twisted and painful. His eyes are bloodshot and his lips curl downward. “You think I’m broken,” he mutters in defeat.

“No! Absolutely not.” Jensen had deliberately used the word Jared hated so much, and his reaction told Jensen all he needed to know. “But that’s how you think of yourself, isn’t it?”

Jared stares through the shine of his tears. “How—

“Because I love you, Jared, and I _know_ you.” Jensen takes a few steps closer to his boyfriend, both of them blinking back tears. “You think accepting help means admitting that you’re broken, but all it really means is that you want to live a better life. Who wouldn’t want that, Jared?”

For once the room is silent as Jensen watches Jared fight with himself. The lack of shouting is almost painful, but Jensen keeps his mouth shut, stoic in his support, and lets Jared work through everything that’s been flung back and forth.

When Jared does move, it’s to gauge the distance between them. Jensen expects him to rush forward, take the first step towards putting this wretched day behind them, but instead he’s forced to watch the color drain out of Jared’s face.

“Oh god,” he mutters, backing away. His shoulder hits the wall and he stumbles. Jensen jumps forward to catch him, but Jared jerks in the opposite direction. “Please,” he whispers, eyes everywhere but on Jensen, “I need to go.”

Jensen is on Jared’s heels as he heads quickly towards the front door. If Jared leaves now, there’s no telling what’s going to happen.

“Jared—”

“Just…” Jared hesitates with a white-knuckled grip on the doorknob. “I’ll see you later, okay?”

“You can’t just leave!” Jensen shouts desperately, but the door’s already swinging shut in his face.

&&&&&

Jensen spends the next thirty minutes standing still as a statue, willing the front door to open and reveal Jared on the other side. He waits and watches, telling himself, “Any time now…”

But nothing happens. Not until Jensen’s cell phone rings and breaks his vigil. He digs it out of his pocket and answers without looking at the display.

“Jared?”

“Sorry, man.”

“Blake?”

“Yup.” Blake sighs. “I’m guessin’ Jared’s not there, huh?”

“You’d be right,” Jensen says. “Have you talked to him lately?”

“That’s sort of why I’m calling. Jared stopped by here not that long ago.”

“He did?” Jensen clutches the phone so hard, he’s afraid the screen’s going to shatter. “What did he say?”

“Not much,” Blake tells him. “He came to the door, but Cindy’s been here since y’alls building was evacuated earlier. When he saw her, he left. He looked pretty spooked, man. Are y’all okay?”

Jensen can’t bring himself to explain. He can’t even keep things straight in his own head. “It’s just been a crazy day,” he says. “If you see or hear from him, will you call me?”

Blake promises to do so, but Jensen doesn’t feel any relief when he hangs up. With nothing else to do, he calls Jared’s cell phone and gets dumped into voicemail. The line beeps and starts recording. Jensen opens his mouth to fill the dead air, but nothing comes out.

He ends the call.

Jensen doesn’t seek out distractions; they find him. His dad calls after reading about the evacuation online, and Jensen allays his fears by telling him that he and Jared are both okay (physically, at least). After that, emails from EKI pop up in his inbox one after another. The first summarizes today’s incident without going into much detail and confirms that no one in the company was hurt. The second email brings the announcement that until the Ross Building is deemed structurally sound, EKI’s offices will be closed, but employees will be allowed to collect their personal belongings.

Jensen resigns himself to working from home (the last place he wants to be) for the next few days, too many events on the schedule for the firm to simply drop everything.

The phone rings again around seven p.m. and Jensen throws up a quick prayer that it’s Jared saying he’s on his way home.

No such luck.

“Jared wanted me to let you know he’s staying at a motel for the night,” Blake says; his normally animated drawl sounds flat.

“Wait, when did he tell you that?”

“He called me ten minutes ago.”

Jensen rubs his temples. “Which motel?”

“That’s the thing,” Blake says. “He didn’t tell me, probably ‘cause he knew I’d pass it right on to you.”

“Well did he say anything else?” Jensen asks through clenched teeth. It’s hard not to lash out at Blake, but he’s merely the messenger. “Did he tell you what happened during the evacuation?”

“No, but I could take a pretty good guess. Something like that would throw any of us for a loop.”

Jensen keeps pressing, but Blake has nothing else to say. He’s jumpy after he ends the call, filled with the urge to go out and look for Jared, but he has no idea where to start. There are dozens of motels in the area—hundreds if he considers the rest of the city. Agitated, he thumbs through his contacts and paces while he calls a few of their friends.

Outside of a few texts and forwarded email jokes, Mark hasn’t spoken to Jared since the last basketball game. Neither has Lincoln. Jensen can’t get a hold of Jimmy, but when he calls DJ, it’s Ben who picks up the phone.

“What’s up, Jensen? Need me to get DJ?”

“Yeah. Well, no, it’s okay,” Jensen fumbles with his words. “Look, have either of you heard from Jared tonight?”

“No...” Ben draws the word out, mind jumping to conclusions. “Wait, do you think something happened? When was the last time you saw him?”

“Ben, hold up,” Jensen says, “It’s not like that. Jared was here for a while and, well, I guess we kind of had a fight and he left.”

“He left?”

“Yeah.” Jensen waits through a few seconds of silence before Ben speaks again, voice suddenly an octave higher.

“That goddamn idiot! I’m gonna go find him right now. I can’t believe this, what the hell was he—hey!” There’s a struggle on the other end of the line. “DJ—stop, hey! Give it back, dammit!”

Then, Jensen hears DJ’s voice. “Hey, Jensen. Sorry about that. Ben’s a little worked up. What were you saying about Jared?”

Jensen recounts the highlights from the moment the fire alarm went off all the way through Blake telling him about Jared getting a motel room. DJ listens quietly, nothing to add once Jensen’s finished. He and Ben haven’t heard from Jared, but DJ promises to let him know if that changes. He also promises to keep Ben from going out and doing anything stupid.

“Which is tough,” he says, not without humor, “’cause he does a lot of stupid shit. But listen, Jensen…Jared’s one of my best friends,” DJ adds solemnly. “Hell, I love him like a brother. If he tells me something in confidence, I’m not gonna share it with you.”

“I know, DJ. I understand. Just tell me if he calls or stops by, okay?”

&&&&&

What follows is the worst weekend of Jensen’s life.

On Friday, he drives to the Ross Building at eight a.m. to collect his computer and his bag along with anything he needs to work from home. Part of him thinks he’s going to find Jared behind the security desk when he arrives, but it’s empty. There are no obvious signs of the fire that prompted yesterday’s evacuation, but walking into the building feels strange, none of the hustle and bustle Jensen’s used to. Corporate employees come and go silently, stepping around contractors and building inspectors. 

Later in the day, Jensen meets Cindy and Melanie for a long lunch to prioritize their work. They accomplish next to nothing, focused more on yesterday’s insanity than anything relating to their upcoming events. Cindy throws him a pointed look each time he checks his phone for new texts or a missed call.

Jensen skips basketball on Saturday. He’s not sure which possibility scares him more: showing up at the rec center and not seeing Jared, or seeing him and being struck down all over again by the force of Jared’s anger. So he remains in bed, buried under his covers with his cell phone lying next to him. Just in case. 

Both Blake and DJ send texts to let Jensen know that Jared was a no-show.

By Saturday night, Jensen’s worked himself into a desperate frenzy. Looking for any kind of distraction, he cleans the kitchen until it’s spotless, throwing away bags of old food and take-out containers. He mows the lawn and does his best to tend Jared’s flowerbeds without completely ruining his boyfriend’s hard work. With his fingers buried in moist soil, the scent of fresh clippings hanging around like an invisible cloud, it’s the closest Jensen’s felt to Jared since he disappeared on Wednesday night.

Jensen swings violently between emotions, and the ride leaves him dizzy and more nauseous than when he rode _The Conquistador_ at Six Flags Over Texas. One minute he’s pissed off, jamming his hands into the dirt while he curses Jared for abandoning him without so much as a fucking text to let Jensen know he’s alright. The next he’s miserable, flopping over onto his back in the grass and staring up at the annoyingly blue sky, longing for nighttime so that he could find a star to wish upon.

When Jensen calls Warren on Sunday morning to beg off from golf, Warren insists that they have lunch at the club instead. Jensen never intends on venting, but Warren’s an outsider to the situation—no ties to Jared or the Army. Warren’s concern lies only with _Jensen_ , no one else, and that fact has him spilling his guts while he stabs listlessly at his pear and salmon salad.

“I had a feeling something like this would happen,” Warren says, waving away their server as he tries to fill their water glasses. “How are you holding up?”

“Not great,” Jensen admits. “I can’t fix on one emotion. I’m angry, depressed, but above everything else, I’m just confused. I don’t really know what happened.”

“Sounds to me like Jared was terrified.”

“But of what?” Jensen ends the charade of eating, tosses his fork on the table. “The alarms? The flashback?” He’s positive Jared’s mind had subjected him to a full-color replay of what happened to his convoy in Afghanistan over a year ago, but Jensen would never hold that, or the fact that he froze, against him.

“Based on what you’ve told me, Jared’s been suffering from flashbacks for a long time,” Warren says. His gray eyes hold no judgment; their cloudy depths swirl in a way Jensen finds soothing. But he misses warm hazel with flashes of green. “Perhaps he was terrified of you.”

Jensen is flabbergasted. “I was only trying to help him,” he hisses, knowing that the country club elite wouldn’t appreciate an outburst in the dining room.

“And I’d imagine that’s what scared him. The way you told me Jared feels about his condition…perhaps he doesn’t think that he’s worthy of your help. He doesn’t want you to find him lacking in any way.”

Privately, Jensen has thought the same thing, never admitting it out loud. But he can’t tell Jared how _wrong_ his conclusion is, if his boyfriend won’t come home or answer his calls.

“Do you think I need to break up with him?”

“Of course not,” Warren says almost immediately. “And neither do you, or else you would have done it already. You’re not the type of man to lock himself into a relationship you no longer want or need.”

Warren lets that sink in as he calmly goes back to eating his endive and gorgonzola salad. Never once had Jensen considered taking that step, but he needed to hear someone else acknowledge his decision.

&&&&&

By Monday, Jensen and the rest of EKI’s employees are allowed to return to the Ross Building.

Jensen hadn’t been able to sleep the night before, his mind a maelstrom of anxiety stirred up by the fact that he would see Jared in the morning. He tried to think of what he would say, how he would act. Whether he’d kiss Jared in front of anyone in the lobby, or throw a punch.

His head’s still spinning when he walks through the front doors; Jensen figures he’ll know what to do the second he lays eyes on his boyfriend.

There’s only one problem: Jared’s not here.

“Rich!” Jensen calls out to the other security guard. “Is Jared upstairs?”

Rich shakes his head. “He didn’t tell you? I got an email this morning saying that he was placed at another property that was understaffed for a couple of days.”

Jensen takes a step back. His stomach is threatening to revolt and bring back his beggar’s breakfast of toast and coffee. Rich says something else before he walks away but it falls on deaf ears. Upstairs, Jensen feels next-to-useless. Thankfully, the office is in chaos from lost time, so no one notices his temporary incompetence and inability to process any of the tasks waiting on his desk. 

He has no idea what to do; his plans hinged on actually _seeing_ Jared. His absence could be a coincidence—maybe Jared had no choice in his reassignment—but Jensen’s gut says otherwise. Inevitably, he begins to question everything he knows about their relationship. If Jared is this unwilling to accept help for his PTSD, how long is Jensen going to be able to handle the symptoms before they amass into one giant emotional wrecking ball?

After Cindy stops by and passes along that Blake’s received no word from Jared, Jensen does his best to be a productive member of his firm, no other avenue left open to him. But in the end, he chalks the day up to a total loss.

&&&&&

Jensen locks himself into his office on Wednesday afternoon, no longer able to deal with Cindy’s sad eyes or his coworkers’ requests. If he’s going to salvage the day (because Monday and Tuesday were total crap-fests), he needs silence.

He’s forgetting that silence is a breeding ground for doubt and insecurity. So either way, Jensen’s screwed. His life has morphed into a monotonous waking nightmare that drains him little by little. He has no appetite for lunch. The break room has ceased to be a haven—Jensen can’t bring himself to go anywhere near the coffee machine. Worn down and under-caffeinated, Jensen tries to focus, but that’s a tall order.

Sitting at his elbow, Jensen’s phone mocks him with a blank screen. He’s left Jared a lifetime’s worth of voicemails already, but he can’t stop thinking of more he could say, desperate for the one thing that will diffuse the situation.

Strangely his mind circles around Warren: wealthy, sophisticated, and well-known throughout the state. While they were sleeping together, Jensen wanted to emulate Warren, achieve some of the same things while he created a name for himself. But their paths diverged, an event Jensen can look back on without emotion, and Jensen’s future changed. The same way it had when he graduated from the Citadel and chose not to continue on to officer’s school, a decision Jared used against him the last time they saw one another.

Jensen had questioned his choice for years, never came close to feeling regret until last week. What was the point of going to the Citadel if he wasn’t going to serve his country?

Fed up of thinking himself into another dead end, Jensen keels forward and drops his head on the desk. Knocking his forehead a few times, Jensen sighs. Becoming a soldier just wasn’t the mantle he was meant to take up.

_Wait._

Jensen’s eyes pop open. He scrambles for his phone, nearly knocking it off his desk along with all of his files. Jared’s number is still at the top of his call list.

There’s one more thing he needs to say.

&&&&&

It nearly gives Jensen a heart attack to see Jared’s truck in the driveway when he gets home. Jensen grabs his bag and rushes inside before a sudden wave of lightheadedness can drop him on the concrete.

“Jared!” he calls out as he steps inside, barely keeping a handle on his nerves. “Are you in here?”

The kitchen, Jared’s favorite room in the house, is empty. So are the living room and the back porch. With his pulse pounding in his ears, Jensen hurries into their bedroom. There he finds Jared kneeling next to a suitcase, clothes and hangers spread out all around him on the floor and the bed.

Jensen loses what’s left of his breath. He collapses but the doorjamb is there to catch him. Jared hears the noise and looks up. When he does, Jensen sees a thin, white cord hanging between Jared’s pocket and his ear. Their eyes lock; Jared pulls out his headphones.

“Jensen? Are you okay?” He stands with some effort, holding his hip. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

The suitcase pulls Jensen’s entire focus. “You’re leaving me.”

Jared’s gaze sweeps between Jensen’s dazed expression and the bed covered in evidence. “What? Why would I—” His mouth slams closed with an audible _click_ , but Jensen’s still reeling.

“I’m so sorry.” Jensen lets the doorframe take his weight. “I know I fucked up, but I’ve been so scared…”

“I know,” Jared says quietly. “I’ve been a little afraid of coming back here, too. Until this afternoon.” He pulls his phone from his pocket and yanks the headphones from the jack. Tapping the screen, Jared gets into his voicemail and turns on the speaker.

“ _I don’t know if you’re getting these anymore_ …” Jensen’s own voice carries across the room. “ _But there’s something I want you to know. Yeah, I never joined the service, and you can hold it against me all you want, but maybe I was never meant to fight. Maybe I’m just supposed to love a man who has, and be there for him after the war left him scarred. I don’t—_ ” 

There’s a muffled sound as his voice drops off; Jensen remembers rubbing his hand down his face. 

“ _I hope you know that I’m not trying to turn you back into the person you were before you enlisted, ‘cause I don’t know him. That’s not the man I fell in love with—the guy I still love. So please, Jared, come home. Talk to me, because I don’t know what I’m supposed to do if I can’t see you._ ”

The message ends and leaves a gaping silence. Jared tosses his phone on the bed amongst his things.

Finally, he says, “I came home, Jensen. After that message, how could I stay away?”

“Then why are you packing?”

“Seriously?” Jensen hasn’t heard Jared laugh in a week. Hearing it now, even for a second, is the best kind of pain relief. “Jensen, we’re flying out to Flagstaff tomorrow morning. Did you forget about our trip?”

“I—”

“You did!”

Before Jensen can defend his horrible lapse in memory, Jared gathers him into his arms. Jensen folds into the embrace without thinking, breathes Jared in while silently vowing never to let him go again.

“I’ve been freaking out, Jen,” Jared is saying. Jensen tries to snap out of his stupor and listen. “I’m sorry I didn’t come home, but I couldn’t figure out what to say.”

“Me neither,” Jensen admits, face pressed against Jared’s shoulder.

“Based on the number of voicemails I got, you had a lot to say.”

“Never the right thing.”

Jared softly lays his lips on Jensen’s forehead. “All the right things. I just couldn’t listen until today.”

They make their way to the bed as one where they sit between piles of Jared’s clothing. 

Jensen leans back so that he can look Jared in the eye. “Why not?”

“Like I said, I was afraid. I saw everything falling apart, but I couldn’t do anything to stop it. I thought the voicemails were you saying that you’d realized I wasn’t worth sticking around for.”

“But you left,” Jensen points out.

“I shouldn’t have. But you’re smart, Jensen, and you’re beautiful. So far out of my league, it’s not even funny, but I fell in love with you anyway. And it was amazing because you wanted me in spite of everything. In spite of my leg…”

“I don’t love you _in spite_ of anything,” Jensen insists. “There are no exceptions for this, Jared.”

“Then I guess I really need to work on being good enough, huh?”

Jensen leans forward and finds Jared’s mouth to shut him up. The second Jared’s lips part for him, a week’s worth of hurt fades away like a bad dream. Soft at first, Jensen is soon moaning into Jared’s mouth, swept up in the feel of him. He’s kissed Jared a thousand times, but when he was alone, no amount of alcohol or fantasy could bring back the exact sensations. Memory wasn’t good enough; Jensen can no longer survive without the real thing.

“You’re good enough,” Jensen whispers. “I promise.”

“I believe you, but I can be better. I want to be better,” Jared swears, lips touching Jensen’s cheek. “Ben told me about this group he started going to, and he offered to go with me.”

Despite his current euphoria, Jensen stiffens.

“But I told him I’d rather go with you,” Jared says, his grin a flash of white Jensen’s happy to see. “Things won’t change overnight, obviously. It might be tough for a while.”

Jensen’s lips inch closer to Jared’s. “We’ll be okay.” He initiates another kiss, unable to get enough. Only this time, Jared grabs his shoulders and pulls him flat onto the bed where they’re wrapped up in the scent of cotton and clean laundry. 

“I won’t quit,” Jared promises when Jensen breaks away to catch his breath. “Not while I have you.”

Jensen could say that he’ll always be here however Jared needs him, but it means forsaking Jared’s lips and that’s just not going to happen. He rolls Jared beneath him and coaxes his tongue further out of hiding until Jared can suck lightly on the supple muscle. As soon as he does, Jared’s hips are rocking up against his thigh—a triggered response—igniting both of them with the friction between Jared’s jeans and Jensen’s slacks.

Jared’s hand curls around the back of Jensen’s head, and he twists his neck to feel those fingers rake through his hair. The touch is gently possessive and perfect. Jensen’s mouth skates across Jared’s cheek, down to his jaw where he hears a faint _rasp_ as his teeth catch Jared’s stubble. He’d been too preoccupied to process Jared’s physical appearance before, but a week apart has taken the same toll on him as it had on Jensen. There’s evidence of more than one sleepless night in the smudged circles beneath Jared’s eyes, anxiousness in his carelessly combed hair. But his eyes reflect the same yearning as Jensen’s and while Jensen is careful not to jostle Jared’s left leg (unwilling to ignore how it pained him to stand earlier), the rest of his body responds eagerly.

Jensen prescribes plenty of bed-rest for their condition, which should be easy to fulfill as Jensen doesn’t plan on going anywhere until they’re forced to leave for the airport tomorrow morning.

&&&&&

The bigger the fight, the better the make-up sex.

As Jensen falls to pieces in Jared’s mouth, he admits that the saying has merit. Make-up sex is _amazing_ , but it’s something he’d rather not repeat so long as the fighting and the fucking come as a package deal. That, and he’s not sure he could withstand this kind of intensity on a regular basis; some of the sensations have been permanently seared into his brain like a brand. It’s good in a way, because Jensen never wants to forget what drove their relationship to this point.

Earlier, Jensen bent himself to the task of making Jared come hard enough to forget the last week, sealing his lips around Jared’s dick like a vacuum while impaling him on two slippery fingers. When Jared’s thrashing and reckless thrusts began to bruise Jensen’s cheeks, he pulled off and drove a third finger into Jared’s tight ass. Achingly full, Jared came less than a minute later, sated limbs spread-eagled in every direction.

Jared had then done his best to soothe Jensen’s sore lips with gentle pecks and an apologetic tongue, but Jensen was burning too hot to wait any longer, his cock raised to attention and _demanding_ the wet satisfaction of Jared’s mouth.

Now, Jared’s tongue curls around the head of his cock, as if he’s a lollipop and Jared is seeking out every sweet drop. He must love the taste, flexing his tongue into a point and flicking it over the slit, swirling around and below the ridge, all the while never easing his grip on Jensen’s thighs, squeezing as if he’ll be able to knead Jensen’s orgasm right out of him. 

And, essentially, that’s what happens. Jensen’s spine locks, his come releasing in a wash down Jared’s throat. Jared suckles him through it, looking up the length of Jensen’s body. The bedroom light catches his eyes, highlighting streaks of green and gold, and the sight is like an orgasm for his heart. Jensen lights up from the inside, fingers and toes still tingling when Jared drops his head on the pillow next to Jensen’s.

The bedroom is a mess, Jared’s clean clothes tossed onto the floor along with everything Jared and Jensen were wearing, but Jensen doesn’t care. Being naked is so much better. 

Jensen needs to pack for Flagstaff (and Jared need to _repack_ ), but he decides it can wait. All night if they find better ways to spend their time. Lying here with Jared, sharing their first peaceful moment together in almost a week, takes precedence. Jared will _always_ take precedence.

His fingers drift up and over Jared’s ribcage, thumb catching on the edge of Jared’s dog tags.

Softly, he whispers, “No one can take away your service, but you don’t have to be a soldier anymore.”

“I know.” Jared lays his hand over Jensen’s and pulls it away. With his other hand, he lifts the ball chain over his head and sets his dog tags on the nightstand. Then he smiles at Jensen. “Small steps, right?”

Yeah, Jensen has a feeling they’re going to be just fine.

 

**EPILOGUE.**

_Jared’s just dozing off when someone invades the small, shady oasis he’d discovered behind the officer’s mess. Whoever it is kicks his bare foot with a flip flop. He blinks, happy to see that it’s Jankowski—or, DJ to everyone on base except his superiors._

_“Is the football game over?”_

_“The 81st kicked ass, dude!” There are triangles of sweat darkening his ARMY t-shirt at the collar and under his arms. “We could’ve used you, Iron Man.”_

_Jared holds up the letter in his hands. “From my sister.”_

_Beside him, Rufus whines for more attention as Jared has stopped scratching behind his ears. The black and white mutt is one of half a dozen strays on base who benefit greatly from the kindness of soldiers._

_“So what’s up, man?” DJ flops down next to him. “You’ve been kinda quiet the last couple days. Bad news from home?”_

_Jared shakes his head. “Nothing like that. Just thinking about the future.”_

_DJ laughs. “Ain’t we all. Me? I’m gonna head back to Texas, maybe open a restaurant. No more tours for me,” he adds. “I can’t fucking stand all this dirt.”_

_Afghanistan has stolen Jared’s ability to see colors besides brown, olive, and gray. Everything around them is covered in a layer of earthen dust, dry to the touch. Jared would give anything to see a bright blue, an emerald green…any color but bright red._

_“You got plans when you go back, Iron Man?”_

_Not everyone likes talking about the future. A jinx to some, but Jared’s been thinking on it more and more. This is his third tour—he can phase out when it’s over._

_“I want to go back to Texas, too,” Jared says. “Get a big house with a barbecue, maybe adopt a couple of dogs,” he adds, grinning fondly over at Rufus._

_“Gonna finish college?” DJ’s aware of the fact that Jared had only made it through one year before he enlisted. Before 9/11 changed everything._

_Jared shrugs. “I don’t think I’d go back to architecture. Maybe designing landscapes or something.”_

_“Playing in the dirt, huh?” DJ laughs. “After all this? You must be fucking crazy, man.”_

_The two of them settle into an easy silence, a luxury they’re rarely afforded, but Jared can’t stop thinking about what he wants when the Army no longer has a say in his life. He leans back, takes a deep breath of warm, foreign air, and envisions a lazy afternoon on a wide back porch. Looking out over a yard he’d worked his sweat into, feeling a new kind of pride. His dogs chasing a tennis ball back and forth over green grass. The sun just beginning to set, painting the sky in gold and purple._

_He imagines a handsome man stepping through the back door with a pair of ice-cold beers, dogs barking as he leans down and kisses Jared hello. His face is shadowed in contrast to the southern sun, but Jared pictures vibrant eyes filled with color—so much color—and a smile built just for him._

_There are days when Jared doubts he’ll live to see any of it, but that’s part of being out here. He carries the fear with him, better than denying that it’s there, and thanks God every time he comes to a moment like this: a moment of peace that allows Jared to escape into his imagination and smile back at the man sharing his perfect future._

_And he thinks maybe, just maybe, he’ll get lucky._

 

FIN.

  
  
For notes & thanks, see my [MASTER POST.](http://kelleigh.livejournal.com/339939.html) on LiveJournal.

Thank you so so much for reading! ♥ Comments are treasured and make this entire experience worthwhile! 


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